Peek Through a Gaslit Window
by Protector of the Gray Fortress
Summary: Sherlock Holmes Drabbles! New series called "Victorian Expressions" starts on chapter 149.
1. Dawning

He awoke with a feeling of excitement and a light heart, which was unusual. It had been so long since he had faced a dawn with any sort of enthusiasm, and it confused him.

He threw back the blanket that had been spread haphazardly over him…and felt the distantly familiar cushions of the settee beneath him. He was in Baker Street, as though nothing had ever changed. He felt his heart begin to pound with the thought, at the impossibility of it.

Then he heard a voice, which crushed all doubts, one he had not heard for three years.

"Watson."


	2. Unendurable

I have faced many things in my lifetime; the bullets and knives of murderous ghazi's, frantic horses with lashing hooves, and endless deserts of sand and heat and thirst.

I survived the campaign of Afghanistan, faced the unearthly Hound of the Baskervilles, and countless villains thirsting for both my blood and that of my friend.

But nothing I had endured was comparable to this.

I threw down my pen, "Holmes you have been scraping on that thing for three hours. Just play something!"

He glared at me from the depths of his armchair, setting aside the violin with a sigh.


	3. The Naming

"Sherlock?"

"Has a nice ring to it don't you think?"

"It makes about as much sense as Mycroft."

"You chose that one dear, after your great uncle."

"Oh yes, the ungrateful old codger. Hasn't sent us a Christmas card in ten years."

"Well I like the name, and you picked the last one."

"Well I suppose its' better than Willoughby or Radcliffe…what does it mean?"

"Fair-haired."

"Ah I see…just you wait though, in a few years that hair is going to darken, just like Mycroft's…where is the little mite anyway?"

"Organizing your paperwork again. I think he may be jealous."


	4. Wax

"Watson?"

I grunted and turned my face deeper into the pillow, wishing the very irritating voice would be on its way.

"Come on old fellow, there's a cab waiting."

A hand shook my shoulder, and I swatted at him.

He was closer than I had anticipated and my hand connected with his nose, sending him off balance, and causing the candle in his hand to waver.

The hot wax on my face woke me up fully.

I yelped and rolled out of bed, clutching at my cheek, while he scrambled back, gasping fervent apologies. Then he fled at my glare.


	5. Vanished Chase Arc part 1

I laughed, spurred by the exhilaration of the chase, clutching the small valise as we ran.

Once again thanks to Watson's courage and steady hand with a revolver, and my own deductive abilities we had snatched it right out from under their noses. The key to solving this particular case, lay quite literally within my grasp.

And nothing, not the pursuing footsteps, the frantic shouts, nor the bullets whizzing past our ears, could stop us now.

That was, until I realized that I was the only one running, and that Watson had vanished in the fog.

I was completely alone.


	6. Waiting CA part 2

I stopped, breathing heavily, only dimly aware that the sounds of pursuit were fast approaching.

"Watson?"

I waited with baited breath for his voice to answer back, for his stalwart form to reappear from the shadows, for his steadying hand on my arm.

But there was nothing.

The footsteps drew closer and I ducked instinctively into the alcove of a nearby building, pressing myself flat against the rough brick, praying that I would be invisible to them.

My heart drummed in my throat, not only from the run but from fear.

Several moments passed as I listened, not even breathing.


	7. Deduction CA part 3

They were gone, and on the instant their footsteps faded I left my hiding place.

I stood in the middle of the street, hardly able to see three feet in front of me.

The fog that Watson and I had counted upon to provide us with safe escape had now become our downfall.

What had happened? It had all gone so quickly, with the gunshots and our rapid pace.

He might have gone the wrong way.

But no…he had been just behind me, at my heels one second then gone the next.

I turned back, I had to find him.


	8. Fruitless CA part 4

The fog seemed to grow thicker at my efforts and I cursed silently that Watson had been carrying the darklantern.

Fold after fold of London smog and darkness rolled away before me to reveal nothing but the wet, worn, cobbles of the empty street.

My chances of finding him in this mess were practically nonexistent, the street itself was too wide…he could be anywhere.

It would not be too soon either before the pursuit doubled back and came upon me, fruitlessly searching.

Or they might already have found my friend.

The thought made my person go cold with fear.


	9. Faint CA part 5

I swallowed, trying to still the frantic fluttering of my heart, to push aside my emotions.

I could not allow myself to think that, he had to be here, the alternative was too horrible.

I looked about me and realized that even if I did find him I was lost, it had not been my imagination, the fog was growing thicker, and colder. I pulled my Inverness tighter around me.

Surely I had already passed the spot where he had disappeared.

"Watson!" I hissed in desperation to the air.

Then my heart stopped as a slight sound reached my ears.


	10. Hope CA part 6

I waited, not breathing, scanning the grey mist. Praying I had not imagined it, willing the sound to come again.

"Watson? Is that you?"

My heart gave a great lurch as it reached my ears a second time, and I realized that it was not just another trick of the fog.

A moan.

I started for it, my arms held out before me, going as swiftly as the fog would allow. Terrified that if I went too fast I would miss him entirely."

"Watson? Can you hear me? Are you there?"

My own voice answered me in the fog.

"Watson?"


	11. Found CA part 7

Again the moan sounded behind me and I twisted round scanning the patch that I had just passed.

I felt a small cry of joy escape my lips as I spotted the shadow, sprawled on the ground.

I sprinted back to it, completely unheeding of the perils of the fog and possible pursuit and was further relieved to see the vague shadow take the familiar form of my dearest friend.

I knelt beside him, dropping the valise we had done so much to acquire.

He lay facedown on the cobblestones, unmoving.

I touched his shoulder, assured by its solidity

"Watson."


	12. Steady CA part 8

The shoulder stiffened beneath my touch and my friend's faint, unconscious moans turned into a gasp.

He began to shift beneath my grasp, trying to struggle away.

I tightened my grip.

"Watson! Watson, its alright. Steady old chap."

He stilled at my words and the sound of my voice, and went limp again, breathing heavily from his efforts.

I sighed, taking a moment to steady myself, though I kept my hand on his shoulder.

"Holmes?"

I sighed again in relief, he was cognizant.

"Yes,I have you. Are you badly hurt?"

I ran my hands along his sides, checking for injuries.


	13. Wounded CA part 9

"I don't-Augh!"

I stopped at his cry of pain and as my hand ran over a wet spot on his jacket.

"Watson?"

My Boswell took a shaky breath and spoke again.

"Side… Holmes…and…" another groan as more pain registered. "…and leg I think…the right."

His pain was evident in his strained voice and from what I could see of his pale face.

I checked the wounds carefully and saw that he was only too correct as always. There was a shallow graze on his left side and a hole in his right leg.

His clothes were already spattered with blood.


	14. Pursuit CA part 10

A muffled groan escaped my friend's lips as I tightened the scarf around his leg, prior to his directions.

He was pale and breathing shallowly, but he had strength enough to sit up and press the makeshift compress against the wound in his side.

"They must have spotted you." I muttered, "Two hits."

He raised his head and looked at me miserably, "I'm sorry Holmes."

"Rubbish." I growled and checked the knot on the bandage. It was not up to par with his own medical skills but it would have to do.

For just then the sound of footsteps sounded.


	15. Stumble CA part 11

For the third time Watson stumbled pulling me down with him onto the wet ground.

I waited for him to catch his breath, keeping a supportive arm round his shoulders.

We could not keep up this pace, but neither could we stop, Watson had lost his revolver along the way, and I knew of no hiding places near here.

Watson groaned as he struggled to get his feet under him I shifted my hold to help him up, and we started on our way again.

Watson had begun to shiver even beneath my Inverness, from bloodloss as much as cold.


	16. Fall CA part 12

I whipped my head around to look behind us, forms loomed up out of the darkness.

They were upon us already!

Watson noticed my movement and I turned as I did, gasping for breath.

"Stop where you are!"

I moved automatically, gripping Watson's shoulders tightly and sending us both crashing to the ground, just in time to avoid the bullet that flew just above my scalp.

My friend cried out from the impact and went limp in my arms. I scrambled to my feet as our pursuer drew closer.

It was only one man and without hesitation I rushed him.


	17. Continue CA part 13

The one was easily dispatched with a blow to the head, knocking him unconscious. But there were more footsteps behind us.

I knelt beside Watson, but no amount of pleading could bring him round again.

I wiped the blood from my eyes, our attacker had struck a lucky blow on my head.

There was nothing for it. I would have to carry him.

Though how long I could keep up with such a burden I did not like to guess.

I slung him over my shoulders and moved forward.

I knew where we were now, and where to find help.


	18. Visiting CA part 14

It was the perfect hiding place, but then I expected no less of the individuals who frequented it.

I knocked with my free hand upon the door, using the other to steady Watson, and was gratified to hear the pattering of small feet upon the ancient floorboards of the old building.

The door cracked open ever so slightly and the eye that peered out at me widened in surprise.

"Cor!" a youthful voice shrilled, and the door was flung wide.

Two or three other slim figures appeared behind the lad.

My irregulars gawked at the bloody figure standing before them.


	19. Help CA part 15

This one is for KCS, who invented Alfie, I apologize for stealing him.

Alfie cradled Watson's limp head in his hands as I lowered my friend to the dusty floor. I gasped as a wet, cool rag was slapped clumsily onto my forehead, Simon stuttered an apology.

"Oi." Wiggin's said angrily, "watch it."

I took the cloth, and nearly laughed but for the gravity of the situation.

"I need someone to go to Baker Street, send Mrs. Hudson for a doctor, than bring a cab back here."

Eager voices volunteered, and I sent two of them away with money for fare. Knowing that I had the best help in the whole of London.


	20. Waiting Again CA part 16

I did not dare unbind Watson's wounds for fear of further bleeding, and he showed no signs of returning to consciousness.

He was warm though, the resourcefulness of our boys' saw to that, covered in half a dozen ragged blankets, his head cushioned by another. There was little more any of us could do for him.

Wiggin set up a schedule of guards for the door, snapping off orders like any other general.

I sat beside my friend, holding his hand in my own, and smiled reassuringly at Alfie, who sat guard over the sputtering lantern.

He patted my arm.


	21. Waking take 2 CA part 17

"Holmes."

I opened my eyes, staring in confusion at the darkness around me, broken by one small flame.

I turned my head looking for Alfie but the boy had fallen fast asleep, curled up beside me like a cat.

"Holmes." the voice sounded again, soft and insistent and I turned to spot not an irregular but the still pale face of my Boswell.

I sighed in relief and pulled myself straight, tightening my hand around his own.

"How do you feel?"

Watson looked around at boarded up windows and the dusty surfaces.

He raised his eyebrows and smiled wryly. "Confused."


	22. Discovered CA part 18

"Oi, guv!"

The boy at the door, one Will by name, called over his shoulder, his eyes on the street.

"There's a coupl'a blokes 'eaded this way! An' it don't look like any friend o' yours."

I looked at Watson and he met my gaze steadily, the answer already on his face, he didn't wish to endanger the boys either.

But neither could he walk.

"Wiggins." I turned to the irregular, who snapped to attention. "Can you hide Watson here?"

The lad nodded eagerly.

"Holmes, no!"

But the valise was in my hand and I slipped quietly out the door.


	23. Dire Straits CA part 19

I froze at the sound of the cocking revolver, and turned to see three large men blocking the way before me.

Fear hit me like a kick in the gut, I was too late.

The man with the gun grinned. "Hello again guv. Jones, go fetch his confederate."

The man drew a club and strode toward the hideout.

"No!" I made to stop him, gun or no gun but found my arms seized by the second of the henchmen.

There were sounds of a struggle from the building, and after a moment Jones reemerged dragging Watson and Wiggins with him.


	24. The Turn CA part 20

The irregular fought like a cat, clawing, biting and wriggling. The man tossed him aside in digust, using both his hands to force Watson into a painful limp forward.

But Wiggins did not run as the thug expected him to.

He launched himself onto the fellow's back with a shout.

He shouted and dropped Watson. The man with the gun turned in their direction and gasped clutching at his face as a large rock struck it.

Another warcry announced the arrival of Alfie who flung himself at my own captor. I readily assisted in throwing the fellow to the ground.


	25. Battlefield CA part 21

The cabbie pulled his rather hurried animal to a stop at the sight of us.

Two gentleman in soiled, blood-covered suits sitting side by side amidst an army of small ragtag boys, and two very large men lying trussed with various odds and ends.

Simon sprang out of the cab and joined his fellows who leapt to their feet, shouting excitedly.

Watson sighed, "There isn't room for all of us Holmes."

"Obviously." I replied, just as weary. "You go first, take Alfie with you and I'll follow with these wretches, once Wiggins returns with Lestrade."

"I doubt he'll be thrilled."


	26. Dinner CA part 22

The cabbie's expression was amusing but Mrs. Hudson's was priceless.

"Mr. Holmes, first the poor Doctor arrives home in tatters and now this!?"

Her voice was rather loud but it had to be in order to be heard over the cacophony of young voices and the stamp of feet as eight irregulars climbed the stairs.

"We'll be needing quite a few scones Mrs. Hudson. And the rest of the pork from last night's dinner."

"But Mr. Holmes!"

I put a hand on her shoulder and quietly explained, and then could not stop the good woman from doting on the boy's.


	27. Credit Chase Arc Final

A soft sound alerted me and I turned to see Watson enter the room, he looked at me, brows furrowing.

I put a finger to my lips and he nodded, coming to sit in his familiar chair, limping slightly.

Oakshott had told me his diagnosis earlier. Both wounds were superficial, bloodloss was the worst of it, rest was required.

Watson looked about the room, illuminated by the early morning light, and occupied by numerous sleeping forms. Alfie snorted and twitched, his head on Wiggins' arm.

My friend smiled.

"Sometimes I think I don't give them enough credit in my stories."


	28. Concentration

He groaned in exasperation, pushing himself away from the chemistry table.

"I don't understand it Watson! It should have reacted by now!" he glared at the offensive beaker.

"You're concentrating too hard." The good Doctor said absently from behind his book.

Holmes turned to him incredulously, "What?"

"I said you're concentrating too hard."

The detective's scowl darkened. "Don't be ridiculous! Obviously the opposite is true, if I were concentrating hard enough than it would have worked."

Watson set down his reading, the corners of his mouth twitched. "You didn't even notice Holmes, the Bunsen burner went out fifteen minutes ago."


	29. Watched

Watson shivered slightly, causing Holmes too look up from his paper. "What is it Watson?"

The Doctor turned from casting a surreptitious glance over his shoulder, "Do you ever get the feeling that you're being watched?"

"By villains like Moriarty?"

"No, more like, viewed for entertainment…like animals at a zoo. What if our entire existence is only so that others may observe our movements, our speech, our habits for their own amusement?"

Holmes sighed, "A chilling thought Watson but I doubt it." he shook out his paper. "Who could possibly be interested in observing an eccentric detective and his Boswell?"


	30. Last

Watson scowled at Holmes darkly though this did not deter the detective's laughter.

"Go ahead and laugh Holmes, but I have great faith in my writings. They'll still be read long after people have forgotten you're real."

Holmes grasped the settee weakly and straightened, gasping for breath, his face set in mock seriousness. "Certainly Watson…along with Jules Verne, H.G. Wells, and Bram Stoker…all you're fanciful writings will _stand the test of time…why _they might even be classics." he fell into another bout of helpless laughter, collapsing onto the cushions.

Watson muttered darkly and bent lower over his journal, scribbling furiously.


	31. Accident

Watson could not keep a grin from his face.

"You know I have always described your features as aquiline Holmes."

The detective glared and kept walking.

"It is rather large…"

Another, stony glare, though it did not have the same effect with his watering eyes.

"…and it stands to reason that it should be broken at sometime or other."

The detective muttered under his breath," You're edjoying thid ared't you?"

"Immensely," Watson said. "And leave the bandage alone. Its' on there for another few days." he grinned happily at the prospect.

Holmes sighed and lowered his hand from his nose.


	32. Home

Watson wearily ascended the steps of his home wishing that he had been able to justify taking a cab.

He was tired from a long day of dealing with a nes practice, the recent bout of influenza among his patients, and the rain that dripped down the collar of his overcoat.

He dug into his pocket for his key and was abruptly interrupted by the opening of the door.

And there she was, glowing with happiness at the site of him, and he felt the gloom drop like a cloak from his shoulders as he took her into his arms.


	33. After Reichenbach

Watson went heavily up the steps to his home, too numb to feel anything, his shoulders bowed as though with a great burden.

The lights were all out, he dug for his key…but the door opened before he could find it.

"John?" She was there, in her dressing gown. "You're telegram was so short…are you alright? Has something happened?"

He pulled her into a tight embrace, and buried his face in her soft golden hair, as though fearful she would vanish as well.

"Is it Mr. Holmes?" She asked, anxious at her husband's silence, feeling him tremble. "John, what's happened?"


	34. Way to Remember

Watson sighed contentedly, as he stroked the head of the beautiful creature who lay on his chest.

She rolled over and smiled happily at him.

"Are we ready do you think John? Its' not too soon?"

He stroked her cheek gently with one nitrate stained hand. "Not in the least."

She laughed. "I'll never forget you're expression when you realized…which do you hope for?"

He kissed her forehead, "It doesn't matter."

She giggled.

"But if its' a boy…"

She sobered at his solemnity and nodded, meeting his hazel eyes.

"Yes, a fine name and a fine way to remember him."


	35. New

They would not let him into the room with her. So he paced in the sitting room instead, back and forth, taking comfort in the rhythm.

Fumbling with his pipe, with his watch, with his papers…until after an eternity the door opened and he was ushered in to her side.

She was not alone anymore, a small head, with a tuft of soft hair the same shade, peeked out from her arms.

She smiled up at her suddenly shy husband and at her word he came closer to look at the small scrap of humanity with hazel eyes.

His son.


	36. Toss

"John…John…JOHN FOR HEAVEN's SAKE BE CAREFUL!"

Watson caught the giggling child as it fell through the air, laughing himself, his cheeks flushed. He turned to his disapproving wife.

"I am being careful."

"His head nearly scraped the ceiling!"

"But Mary he enjoys it."

She glared at him and he sighed resignedly setting the boy carefully on the floor where, with a shriek of delight he started for the pile of brightly colored, wooden animals.

He tossed one and it landed on the tea tray, overturning the cups.

Mrs. Watson looked at her husband who was conveniently hidden behind his paper.


	37. Observation

He watched everything; the birds darting outside the windows, the strangers they passed in the street, the light as it shone off of the silver and his father's watchchain and his mother's ring.

He was fascinated by the flipping pages of a book, the movement of a scratching pen, the fire as it spurted and danced in the hearth.

But he never touched…only watched.

When he stopped his crawling to examine the muddy footprints in the hall Watson laughed and picked him up, turning to the shining eyes of his wife.

"He's living up to his name." She said softly.


	38. Loss

He held her limp hand in his, trying to concentrate on her face with eyes blurred by fatigue and tears, trying to ignore the terrible rhythm of the rain as it drummed on the windows.

Behind him, down the hall, he heard the whimpers and cries of his son awakening, but he could not bring himself to answer them.

How could he possibly raise a child so fragile and young without the tender help of his wife.

In the end he didn't have to…for despite his efforts to the contrary the child sickened, and followed the mother within a week.


	39. News

Hundreds of miles away from London, a man tore open the telegram in his hand. He scanned the yellow paper with sharp grey eyes…and then his face went blank with shock as he made out the words.

He read them again, his face pale and his hands shaking. Then with a half-whispered curse he flung the note into the fire where it was quickly consumed by the flames, the words only just visible.

COLD FRONT IN LONDON STOP MOTHER AND CHILD TAKEN STOP DOCTOR IN A BAD WAY

M

The man rose, face set, and began his preparations for London.


	40. Romantic Drivel

**_For my dear chum, KCS, who first invented Lachlan's propensity for telling ghost stories._**

"Watson." Holmes slipped up behind his friend and tapped him on the shoulder.

"**BWAH!**" Watson leapt a foot into the air and turned to glare at him.

"Don't sneak up on me like that Holmes, please!"

"What is that you're reading?" Holmes snatched the tome from Watson's hands and snorted at the title.

"_The Mary Celeste and other tales of haunted ships, _Really Watson!"

The Doctor reddened. "They're fascinating stories."

"I suppose Lachlan recommended this one to you?"

"As a matter of fact…"

Holmes gave him back the book with a resigned sigh.

"Sailors…writers…this is what you get, romantic drivel."


	41. Things You Can Take for Granted

If Watson's revolver is mentioned it will be used, even if Holmes has to toss it off a bridge to be useful.

If the sitting room is filled with smoke thick enough to resemble London fog then Holmes has been up all night.

If Holmes is excited you should be worried.

If Holmes pulls out his violin during a case Watson will stay to enjoy the music. If Holmes pulls out his violin after his case Watson will flee from the noise.

If Sherlock Holmes goes on a dangerous and interesting case, then his Boswell will be at his side.


	42. Another Boswell

"It seems our Midshipman has acquired himself a Boswell."

Watson swallowed his toast and looked at Holmes in puzzlement. "Eh?"

Holmes straightened out his paper and cleared his throat.

"_Reporter Renie Haight has been trailing Midshipman William Lachlan, who was involved in the Friesland affair several months ago_…it goes on like that for some time Watson…_Mr. Haight has now published several articles on the Midshipman's activities much to our reader's delight, and will continue to do so in the future…_ Hmm."

"Renie Haight?" The Doctor questioned.

"Mm. An American it seems."

"Poor devil, has no idea what he's up against."


	43. Glazing of the Eyes

"Are you sure?"

"Oh I have no doubts Watson."

"How can you tell?"

"You notice the flattened fingertips where they have pressed against the keyboard?"

"Yes."

"And the small British phrases and inflections that creep into her speech, not modern but Victorian."

"I did notice something of the sort."

"Add the fact that she is squinting from staring at a lit screen for far too long and I am absolutely certain."

"I do believe you're right, a fangirl…no doubt, Holmes, you also observed how her eyes glazed over at the sight of you."

"Nonesense Watson, she was looking at you."


	44. Encounter

He glanced about him at the Egyptian houses, breathing heavily. He cursed at the realization that he had lost his quarry yet again. He turned back.

And cried out as a shadow leapt out from behind the nearest building, flattening him on the ground.

A pair of irritated, blue eyes scanned his face and his attacker cursed fluently.

"Oh blue blazes! Not you again Mate!"

"Hullo Midshipman." Renie Haight said cheerfully, if a trifle breathlessly. "Would you mind getting off of me…I can't breathe."

Lachlan growled and pulled him to his feet, propelling the lad forward towards the nearest hotel.


	45. Beautiful Silence

Papers flew in every direction as Holmes dived into every nook and cranny of the sitting room, searching frantically.

Watson lay contended on the sofa.

Holmes straightened and glared at him.

"Blast it all Watson! Tell me where you've put it!"

Watson did not open his eyes but smiled languidly, shaking his head.

"But I need it, Watson! The case must be solved within the next thirty hours and I cannot think!"

"You could try your pipe," Watson mumbled, enjoying the first bit of silence in two days.

"I don't want my pipe I want my violin! Where is it?!"


	46. Sorry

"I'm really sorry about this."

"Not as sorry as you're goin' to be."

"Its hard to be quiet when you have a headcold."

"You shouldn't have been followin' me in the first place."

"Well if you hadn't led us through that swamp I wouldn't have taken ill."

"I never asked you to follow me."

"I know."

A brief, heavy silence fell.

Lachlan sighed and tested the ropes on his hands for the thousandth time.

Renie Haight sneezed.

"I…I don't suppose you can reach the penknife in my jacket pocket." the seaman said at last.

Haight grinned. "Thought you'd never ask."


	47. Brothers

Missing excerpt from a brother noble.

_**Mycroft**_

I re-entered the compartment, muttering to myself and at once fell silent at the sight that met my eyes.

Sherlock lay stretched out to his full, skinny length, his body on one seat and his bandaged leg elevated on the other.

The Doctor huddled beside him.

They had settled into a position that had become quite natural over the last few days; Sherlock with his arm about his friend's shoulders and Watson with his head resting against it.

I smiled and seated myself opposite them.

Not brother's in blood, but in experience, loyalty and love there were none closer.


	48. Laughter

Inspector Lestrade paused before the sitting room of 221b and frowned, uncertain of what he was seeing.

Doctor Watson was sitting limply in his chair, gasping for breath, his glass of port coming dangerously close to slipping from his hand.

Sherlock Holmes lay sprawled on the floor, clutching his stomach.

"Murray never tried that again." Watson gasped.

Holmes caught his breath, "In his boots..." he threw back his head in another bout of helpless laughter.

Watson joined in clinging to the arms of the chair.

Lestrade quietly turned around, deciding he would come back with his report later.

Much later.


	49. Docks Lachlan Arc part 1

They crouched at the edge of the dockyards.

"I should not have let you come."

"Who else would come with you to watch your back? A salty old seaman like yourself needs what company he can get."

"I'm not even supposed to be in London. If that gang finds out we're here…"

Haight laughed softly and clapped Lachlan on the shoulder.

"We're used to it by now."

Lachlan snorted though a slight smile softened his features.

The expression changed to one of puzzlement…and then horror when he heard the retort of the gun and his companion gave a low grunt.


	50. Familiar Door LA part 2

"Steady Lad, hold on."

Lachlan tightened his grip on the boy and hurried across the street toward the door that he had not seen for many years.

Odd that he had done this same thing before, only the last time the man bleeding in his arms had been the great detective.

Not a boy.

Haight's wide brown eyes were fixed dazedly on his own blood-covered hand which clung to the seaman's shirt.

He was growing ever paler, his white skin contrasting with the unruly mop of Auburn on his head.

Lachlan mounted the steps and pounded loudly upon the door.


	51. Safety at Last LA part 3

"What the devil!" Holmes snapped.

Watson yawned and rose from his chair. "I'll see to it Holmes."

He descended the seventeen steps to the front door and pulled it open.

He was not prepared for the figure that staggered in, clutching another slighter man in his arms.

His amazement at seeing the seaman was overpowered by his medical instincts as he spotted the blood covering both men.

"HOLMES!" He shouted, taking the lad from Lachlan's arms.

The detective pounded down the steps and froze as he took in the scene before him.

Then he raced back up after Watson's bag.


	52. No LA part 4 LA part 4

"I shouldn't have brought him." Lachlan gasped exhaustedly as looked down at Haight, bleeding all over the quilt Watson had laid on Holmes' bed.

"Could you have stopped him?" Watson asked handing the chloroform soaked hankerchief to Holmes who placed it over the lad's nose.

"No." the seaman admitted, his head bowed in defeat.

Watson inserted a syringe into Haight's arm and the reporter struggled feebly, his dazed eyes blinking past the cloth on his face to Lachlan.

The seaman took hold of the lad's hand.

The pale eyelids slid closed at last.

Watson took out his scalpel and tweezers.


	53. Alright LA part 5

"That's the last of it." Watson murmured, wiping his arm across his forehead.

Lachlan let out a shaky breath and Holmes placed an absent hand on his shoulder. Watson tied off the stitches and washed the wound in antiseptic.

He tied a neat bandage around the shoulder and removed the chloroform soaked cloth.

Lachlan raised haunted blue eyes and met the reassuring hazel orbs of the good Doctor.

Watson smiled warmly, his brow creased in sympathy.

"He'll be fine Lachlan, a little weak from loss of blood but…"

Lachlan bowed his head. "Thank God." he ejaculated from his very heart.


	54. Storms LA part 6

Holmes pressed a glass of brandy into the Doctor's hand and Watson nodded gratefully, not taking his eyes from the figure beside the bed.

Lachlan had dozed off in his chair, his head resting on his folded arms.

"Its been quite a few years since he left his nautical profession." Holmes commented. "He's losing his edge. Such a slovenly watch would have earned him a severe reprimand back then."

"This is a different sort of watch." Watson said with great weariness, as though his words were weighted down by years and similar experiences.

"…and his own storm." Holmes said softly.


	55. Hullo Doctor LA part 7

Watson entered the room the next morning, firmly intending to wake Lachlan and force him to eat and take some rest.

He was arrested by a pair of brown eyes.

Haight grinned weakly at him and then down at the seaman who's upper half lay sprawled on the bed.

"Morning Doctor, its been a while."

Watson smiled. "Indeed it has Mr. Haight."

"Has he slept?"

"Only as you see him."

Haight sighed and shifted slightly, wincing.

"Stubborn seaman…I don't suppose you can get him off me can you? I can't feel my arm anymore."

Watson laughed and moved to assist.


	56. Small but Mighty LA part 8

In the end it was Renie who convinced Lachlan to go to bed. The lad had shown an amazing amount of strength and alertness after his ordeal last night, though he was asleep again. His pale face lost among the covers of Holmes' bed.

"Funny." Watson said.

"Hm?" Holmes questioned.

"The name Renie." The Doctor said smiling at the slim, wiry figure, more suited to a jockey or an acrobat than anything else.

"What of it?" Holmes asked somewhat impatiently.

"Its Gaelic." Watson said. "And in translation it means 'small but mighty'."

The detective joined Watson in his observation.

"Curious."


	57. Lead On LA part 9

"This is my business." Lachlan glared.

"And you're exhausted, they have been on your tail for some time by your appearance." Holmes said, pulling on his coat.

"I can't ask you to do this." The seaman said.

"You don't need to. Its only reasonable. With Renie out of commission you are short a pair of hands. Watson…you will watch after our guest?"

The good Doctor nodded. "Be careful Holmes."

The detective smiled. "Always. Lead on Lachlan." He motioned the seaman forward.

Lachlan sighed as he took in Holmes' determined expression, then opened the door and left quietly, the detective followed.


	58. Gone LA part 10

Renie Haight awoke suddenly. He glanced about at the unfamiliar rooms of 221b Baker Street.

Something was wrong.

Throughout his years with Lachlan he had been wounded several times. And every time he had awoken the seaman had been there.

"How are you feeling?" said a voice to his left. He turned to see Dr. Watson stepping into the bedroom.

"Where's Lachlan?" the reporter asked.

Watson hesitated.

"Where's Holmes?"

"On an errand."

Sherlock Holmes had not been exaggerating when he said the Doctor was incapable of lying, his face was like an open book.

"How long have they been gone?"


	59. Another Cold LA part 11

"Why have you not contacted the authorities?" Holmes whispered.

"We haven't any proof." Lachlan replied just as quietly. "Renie and I stumbled on 'em in Cairo, and its' not the antiquities we're worried about so much as the documents."

"Documents!"

"Aye. This is bigger than smuggling Holmes, this is about the canal. They've been tailin' us for over a week now."

"How did they come to know you were following them?"

"Renie had another cold."

"Eh?"

"Never mind, we need to get inside just after these blokes lea- ah! There they go."

Holmes pulled out his roll of lockpicks. "Ready."


	60. A Plot LA part 12

"Holmes, over here!"

The detective left the pile of papers he had been flitting through to join the seaman.

Lachlan had pulled a set of documents from his own pile and was holding them up to the light of the candle.

Holmes drew in a sharp breath as he made out the diagrams and names on the first page.

"By the lord Harry, the Suez canal."

"And with this cove involved there's no question as to the motive."

"Bring them, we'll find Mycroft."

Something metallic pressed into the back of the detective's head, he froze.

"Stay where you are gentlemen."


	61. Role of the Boswell LA part 13

"I strongly advise against it! You're injury has not even begun to mend..."

Haight shook his head. "He shouldn't have left me. Not with that lot after us. He doesn't know what he's doing."

Watson sighed. "Do you really think you'll make any difference lad?"

Haight pulled on his jacket gingerly and checked the revolver before slipping it into his pocket.

"I don't know…but I cannot let him face this without me."

He raised his head. "Do you understand Doctor?"

Hazel eyes met brown and Watson nodded slowly.

"Yes I understand." He reached for his own coat. "All too well."


	62. Talk LA part 14

Holmes lay on the floor, a small trickle of blood oozing out from under his hair.

The man with the revolver smiled and Lachlan stood at bay, his teeth bared in a snarl.

"I must say you employ the best Mr. Lachlan, but now that your detective is out for a little while at least we can chat undisturbed. Tell me, who else knows of this little project?"

The seaman glared.

His captor sighed and aimed the gun at Lachlan's knee. "You're only making it harder on yourself. I would advise you not to be difficult. Where is your reporter?"


	63. Cornered LA part 15

He set his teeth against the waves of agony running through his limb, pressing his face into the filthy floor.

He would not cry out again, would not give him the satisfaction.

He heard the man give a longsuffering sigh.

"The injury is not life threatening midshipman, it will be some time before you even lose consciousness, I have five unused cartridges left and I know just where to place them. So tell me, where is Mr. Haight…who else is involved?"

"I have nothin' to say…to a traitorous piece of scum such as yourself." The seaman gasped.

"Where is he?"


	64. Triggerhappy Americans LA part 16

"Where is he?"

Lachlan closed his eyes, better not to see.

The gun cocked.

Another gun cocked.

A young, tenor voice filled the damp, dingy room, tense with suppressed rage.

"Put down your gun, or I'll kill you here and now."

Lachlan's heart leapt and his eyes flew open to fix on the two figures behind his captor, Renie's face was as hard and cold as a block of ice, his eyes promised no mercy.

Watson leveled his gun alongside the reporter's.

"I would listen to him." he said casually. "You know how American's are with their guns, Most uncilivized."


	65. Oh Be Quiet, Do! LA part 17

Their attacker lay on the ground, a dark lump on his forehead where Watson had struck him, not so much as to keep him out of trouble as to keep Renie from ripping him to shreds.

Holmes had come round all right and watched as Watson tended to the wound just above Lachlan's knee.

Renie was gripping the seaman by the arms to keep him still, his face no longer hard and cold but very young and pale.

Lachlan smiled shakily at him, then gasped and clenched his eyes shut.

"You should be in bed."

"Shut up." Renie snerked loudly.


	66. These Two LA part 18

Watson looked up from bandaging Holmes' head and looked worriedly at the young man who sat staring at the unconscious figure on the couch.

Renie had not left Lachlan's side all night and he clenched the seaman's limp hand in his, his other arm lay securely in a sling.

Holmes glanced up at his Boswell, "What's wrong?"

Watson shook his head. "Stay still."

"Watson?"

The Doctor sighed. "Very similar are they not Holmes?"

"No, they're almost complete opposites."

"Not to each other my dear fellow."

"Ah…" Holmes brows furrowed thoughtfully.

"Still Watson…I expect they'll do alright. We did after all."


	67. Awwwww LA part 19

Lachlan was turning red. Watson grinned and Holmes chuckled.

The seaman glanced down at the lad who was still embracing him hard.

"I'm…I'm alright lad…really…you can…you can let go." He patted Renie's good shoulder awkwardly.

Haight straightened and swiftly ducked his head to wipe his eyes hastily on his sleeve.

This made Lachlan turn redder and Holmes laughed outright at his embarrassment.

"Sorry." Haight mumbled, trying to regain his composure.

Watson patted his shoulder. "Nothing to be ashamed of my boy. You'll have to forgive us, Englishman usually only show affection to dogs and horses."


	68. Girl Back Home LA part 20

_For KCS, to whom Renie officially belongs._

"WATSON!"

Renie and Lachlan, one seated at the breakfast table the other stretched out over the sofa, jumped.

The Doctor sighed and put down his cup.

"What is it Holmes?"

The detective strode into the room, thrusting an envelope into Watson's hands as he passed.

"Have you ever heard of this young woman?"

Watson frowned at the name. "No Holmes…is it a case do you think?"

"In a letter that thick my dear fellow? No no no no."

Renie had slipped around to peek over Watson's shoulder.

"Woops." he snatched up the letter and headed for the door.

Lachlan laughed.


	69. The Doctor Knows Best LA part 21

They were gone. Holmes sighed and examined the piece of tweed that had caught on the door in their flight.

Watson was fuming.

"Just once I wish someone would listen when I advise them in a medical capacity. You're not deities any of you! For pity's sake!"

Holmes gave him a dubious look.

"Calm down Watson."

"That leg is not fit to be used for another week at least! And Renie strained his wound when we went to rescue you two. You can bet he has already taken the sling off!"

Holmes sighed and went to pour Watson some brandy.


	70. New York Lachlan Arc Final

Nearly a week later Holmes was lounging about the sitting room in a black mood.

He sighed heavily and as though some merciful deity were listening, the door suddenly opened to admit Mrs. Hudson with a telegram.

The Detective snatched it up and read.

IN NEWYORK STOP HAVE FOUND MATTER OF INTEREST THAT REQUIRES YOUR PARTICULAR TALENTS STOP PLEASE JOIN US IF YOU CAN STOP TELL WATSON THAT BOTH WOUNDS ARE HEALING NICELY STOP

REGARDS

LACHLAN AND CO.

"WATSON!"

The Doctor entered the sitting room and Holmes thrust the telegram at him.

"Pack your bags, we'll catch the next boat."


	71. Murder

**Yet another attempt to feed my muse. Drabbles based on the angst table from the livejournal community _Watson's Woes. _Compiled by my dear chum KCS. If I do one of these a day, then you'll all get an update every day for 100 days. That means I should be finished sometime in early summer (too lazy to do the math).**

**If any of you ever want me to expound/continue one of these then send me a line and I'll see what I can do. If you don't know what expound means then shame on you. Buy a dictionary post haste.**

**If you don't know what post haste means I give up. **

**:D jk.**

* * *

**_1. Murder_**

* * *

Everyone knew that Dr. Watson, had an uncommonly large heart.

The match girl who got a pence off him weekly, the cabman who had his leg set on the steps of the flat three years back, even the most sober seemed to step more lightly when he limped past.

No one knew it better than Holmes. So he was not surprised when, after hauling Watson out of a country river, the rescued sack in the Doctor's hands ended up containing a whimpering bundle of reddish fur.

"The ruffians just tossed him in!" Watson growled, gently handling the small creature, "Murderers."


	72. NIghtmare

**2. Nightmare**

* * *

A cry of terror shattered the hushed silence of a thousand observers.

Wagner faltered, the stage seemed to droop in displeasure, and five hundred pairs of eyes glared at the occupant of the box who had dared to utter this blasphemy in public.

Sherlock Holmes sat upright where he'd been limp before, his hands crushing the velvet on the arms of his chair, gasping for breath that would not come.

Then someone gripped his arm warmly, pulled him away from the dark and the clashing cymbals that sounded like Reichenbach.

Watson smiled, "Wrong sort of introspection, never mind old man."


	73. Grief

**3. Grief**

* * *

Sometimes she was very much like a mother to them.

What else could you expect in a household with two bachelors, one an underfed war veteran, and the other a walking skeleton with more thought then was good for him, and both of them always soaked to the skin or covered in blood?

She sewed their clothes, cooked their meals, and scolded them roundly.

When Holmes found her weeping in her kitchen, fingering the gold band on her finger, he sat silently beside her while she recounted how she had become _Mrs. _Hudson, and the tears slowly turned into laughter.


	74. Late Nights

**4. Late Nights**

* * *

"It's one…by the way…"

"Mm?"

"Just thought you'd like to know."

"What are you getting at?" Holmes glared darkly at his companion…though in the _dark_ it did not have the same effect.

Watson muffled another yawn in his coat sleeve, "I think we're staying out too late."

"You're not past thirty-five, Watson. A few late nights won't hurt you."

"A week and a half of vigils is not a few."

Holmes laughed and said something about Afghanistan and stamina.

He regretted it the next night, when an exhausted Watson tripped on the pier and fell headfirst into the freezing Thames.

* * *

**Bwahahaa! Cliffhanger! **

***ducks fruit* **

**Aw c'mon, you knew it had to happen sooner or later...I'll continue it in number five..._tomorrow! Bwahaha!_**

**_*runs*  
_**


	75. Breathe

**Sorry for the delay, I'm fighting off a horde of viruses on my computer. They won't let me download any norton or mcafee. If anyone has any advice i'd be grateful.**

**5. Breathe**

* * *

"Breathe!"

It's taken over five minutes to pull him out.

"Breathe…Watson!"

He is not aware when his demands turn to pleading, only that he is helpless and the one who always answers him is lying as still as the dead wood beneath them, oblivious to the half-sobs escaping his throat.

"Watson...please, Watson. Breathe!"

He feels as though he will turn into a pool of water himself when the wet hair jerks out from under his hand and a watery choke reaches his ears.

And he finds that his lungs only work when he matches the hoarse gulps breath for breath.


	76. Shoot

**6. Shoot**

**So you'll get two today because I missed yesterday. And I forgot to mention that the idea for the Mrs. Hudson drabble was all my brilliant friend KCS's. **

* * *

They were completely surrounded, enemies on all sides.

"Our only chance is to take out the leader, Watson," Holmes whispered grimly. "Then we might have a chance at escape."

"It's a risk, Holmes." Watson regarded the gigantic brute nervously. The fellow could easily flatten his friend.

"But a necessary one." Holmes was already loading his weapon.

"If you're sure."

"Quite."

Mycroft flinched as the pea bounced off his cheek. He glared across the room where Sherlock and his friend were innocently chewing their food.

He sighed, this was the last time he forced his brother to attend a social event.


	77. Fire Cobra pt 1

**7. Fire**

**If you don't understand how it can be called fire, and there be no flames involved then you've never been stung by a wasp. **

* * *

It was a cobra. Watson recognized it almost instantly.

"Holmes! Keep clear of it!"

"I am," the detective did not need to be told. He had never been overly fond of snakes and their oscillating movements.

His eyes followed the serpent as it wove back and forth, rising up on its lithe body.

Watson relaxed, seeing his friend keep a safe distance.

The same instant the dreadful thing spat its venom five feet directly into Holmes' face.

His screams of pain tore at the Doctor as he pinned him down and shakily emptied a carafe of water into his eyes.

* * *

**Wow...I am evil lately. tbc...**


	78. Missing Cobra pt 2

**8. Missing**

* * *

"They've suffered some serious damage, Holmes."

"But not permanent?"

"By no means." A warm hand gripped his shoulder and he jumped, missing the forewarning of movement.

Later he missed the table when he replaced his cup.

He nearly missed his chair sitting down.

And he missed Lestrade's hand in a shake.

By mid-afternoon of his first day out of bed he was curled into an unresponsive ball on the settee.

Until two pieces of long-missed, polished wood were pressed into his hands.

For hours he played music that soothed both occupants of the room, missing only Watson's expression of enjoyment.

* * *

**TBC...**


	79. Darkness Cobra pt 3

**9. Darkness**

**More of the HolmesBlindness series. This is the next to last one.**

**And the line about the intelligence was highly influenced by another source.**

* * *

Holmes' eyes were dark like slate.

In anger they turned almost black with shadows.

In thought they grew translucent, and one could see the intelligence turn in their depths.

Occasionally they were warm like sun-soaked stones on a beach.

They were nothing now. Blank, glazed, red, surrounded by painfully blistered skin, Watson was shamefully relieved when the examination was over and he cover them with bandages again.

"Any improvement?" the subdued voice quavered.

Watson shook his head, feeling mute when of course Holmes did not catch the movement.

"No." Wherever his friend was, it was not within those ruined orbs.

* * *

**To be concluded...**


	80. Light Cobra pt 4

**10. Light**

* * *

Thunder heralded the sweeping clouds, and the end of their walk. Watson started to hurry him out of Regent's.

But when the actual rain struck him like a slap across the face, soaking the bandage into a useless smothering thing, Holmes could stand it no longer.

He tore it from his face, ignoring Watson's protests.

It was still dark, he'd expected nothing else, but he looked up anyway to feel it, eyelids flickering in the downpour.

And that was when he saw the faint light of a patch of sky.

Luckily the rain disguised the additional moisture on his face.


	81. Choke

**11. Choke**

**A lighter one for you. This one comes from personal experience. I should never joined a Jujistu class, people tend to squash you.**

He was caught. No amount of twisting could free his head of the arms locked around it, hard and unyielding as coiled rope, tightening slowly. He wheezed as his air was cut off, his vision darkening at the edges, not black but red, there was not enough blood getting to his brain!

He tapped frantically on the man's elbow.

Holmes dropped him like a slab of meat and rolled off his back, breathing heavily.

The detective eyed his gasping friend critically.

"Really, Watson, you should tap sooner."

The Doctor rubbed his neck, lamenting the day he'd decided to learn Baritsu.

* * *

**And no, there is no such thing as Baritsu, but apparently Holmes used it to pitch Moriarty off a waterfall. **


	82. Helpless WWI pt 1

**12. Helpless**

**I apologize for me' tardiness. School is putting up a last violent struggle before it is eliminated by glorious summer. You guys will get sick of my updates once it finally perishes.**

**

* * *

**

Air. Fresh air that smells of mud and growing things. He can taste it and his choked lungs beg for more.

But it is hard, thinking is hard, moving is hard, breathing is hard. He cannot remember when it became so difficult. He can remember doing all of these things with ease in the past.

Then why not now?

He chokes in another desperate gulp of the wonderful atmosphere and regrets it as something warm and slick clamps down on his mouth. Now all he can taste are onions, and sweat fear.

Three words. "Keep him quiet."

And nothing more.

* * *

**Not even gonna tell you whose pov. TBC...**


	83. Negotiate WWI pt 2

**13. Negotiate. (continued from 12)**

**You guys are awesome, so many reviews when everything else is falling down around my ears. I'll try to update faster.**

He fights, because that is what a soldier does.

Even though he is no match for the body pinning him. He's wasted after months of cheap rations, and long cold nights in muddy trenches. But what else can one expect in war?

He twists and a muffled scream escapes.

"I said shut him up!"

The hand is tense, cradling his head to be still. A new voice answers.

"I'll take care of him, you watch the road or I'll shoot you now and save the bother.

The voice does not belong to this nightmare.

He can't smell the spring anymore.

**tbc...**


	84. Blind WWI pt 3

**14. Blind**

* * *

Exhausted, he stops struggling.

He makes no noise, his voice has withered away in his dry desert of a throat.

Now he is lifted, hauled across someone's back. He remembers pack-horses, heat and sand.

"We cannot continue…it is too dark."

"Then they won't see us."

The same voices as before, one wrong, and one dangerous. Strange how a language that you have grown up learning can become "evil".

"Teufel!" it swears as someone stumbles and he shivers again, "We are blind in this darkness!"

"I am not. Stay low and follow me," his pack-horse shifts him more comfortably and continues.

**tbc...**


	85. Haunt WWI pt 4

**15. Haunt**

He can no longer remember which war it is he's supposed to be fighting. Mud, sand, Ghazi's, Jerry's, suffocating in a collapsed trench or boiling in the sun with a knife in your belly, it all comes down to the same thing.

But _He_ shouldn't be here.

The hands pressing against the hurt in his abdomen are for test tubes, scraps of evidence, a certain violin…

And the wrong voice is so soft it will soon break the cold reserve that's kept him alive.

He opens his eyes and sees a ghost.

And does not care if he is dead.

**tbc...**


	86. Embrace WWI pt 5

**16. Embrace**

He does not care that the German Is watching.

Nor can he guess how someone traverses miles of death and destruction with only a deserter as a guide, even with Mycroft's classified reports.

Words are woefully inadequate, as they have always been. Not even casual repartee or sarcasm will suffice.

He clings as hard as he can and his other half clings back, wrapping warm arms around his head and shoulders, pulling him close.

"I thought I would find you in the thick of it."

He laughs.

And for the first time in eleven months, he is a whole man.

* * *

**Fini.**

**And yes, if you made it this far you deserve some explanation. Frankly, if Watson did enlist with the RAMC (thanks KCS) in WWI, I don't think there is anyforce in heaven or hell that would stop Holmes from making sure he made it back.**

**Or maybe its just the retaliation of a delusioned author who can't accept that the legends of Baker street would go gently into any night, be it good or bad.**

**Look at that, my first poetic allusion. :)**

**Also, I have nothing against Germans or Germany. They're amazing people and I love em. I plan to go there someday. But WWI is what it is, and Holmes and Watson are on the opposite side.**


	87. Silence

**17. Silence

* * *

**

For the first time in many months the sitting room is peaceful. I lie stretched out on the settee, enjoying the familiar swirls and patterns of the velvet cushion beneath my cheek, my paperless hand dangles.

The paper resides with my friend's shoes on the carpet, accentuating each other with newsprint and boot polish black.

Holmes, sans shoes, sits curled in his chair. The active devil is at rest, gray orbs closed, brow smooth, hands still, pipe dangling from a beautific, languid smile.

Should he purr, I would not be surprised.

Only the smoke moves, slowly curling about our heads.

* * *

**All KCS's fault, in her crusade to induct me into the trek-fandom she remarked that it's fanlore that Vulcan's can purr.**

**Then she goes and blows my mind with her awesome "However Improbable" story. If you want to know what the heck I'm talking about go and read it. **


	88. Work

**This is for KCS, who to my knowledge has never taken a day off in her life. But then, what Holmes does?**

* * *

Holmes was very good at finding comfortable dwellings.

His cottage in Sussex, and by extension the bed in the spare (Watson's) room, was very accommodating.

Which was why Watson resented being shaken awake at five in the morning to "see the bees". After a week spent solely in his consulting room he preferred to remain buried in blankets.

"Bees?! You hate industry!"

"It seems, my dear Watson, one must get away from work to appreciate it."

He looked longingly back at the bed as he was dragged away. It seemed sadly empty without him. "Maybe I would if I _could_."

* * *

**Now say "Which was why Watson" four times fast! **

**My brain is in poetic mode, which is ridiculous coz i'm not one. Cursed alliteration! **

**Three more days to freedom!!! Caelum denique!**


	89. Rescue

**Rescue**

* * *

To many, the irregulars appeared to be as common as sparrows. Small, rambunctious and of no importance.

What notice was there if one went missing?

"You thrashed him too hard." Watson whispered with an almost wary look.

Holmes paid no attention to the kidnapper sprawled out on the floor behind them. His stony face was directed at the bundle in his arms.

The lad flinched as Watson secured another stitch in his arm, but didn't whimper and earned a "Brave boy" From the Doctor.

Holmes said nothing, but the boy stayed in his arms all the way to Baker street.

* * *

**The analogy is not mine, but belongs to Barbara Brooks Wallace.**

**And the curse of the W aliteration continues.**


	90. Die

**20. Die**

* * *

Sherlock Holmes had many alarming habits.

Watson was used to them.

Which is why, when he entered the sitting room to find Holmes sprawled on the hearth , glassy-eyed, and covered in a red substance that smelled a little _too_ metallic, he was not unduly alarmed.

He courteously stepped over his companion to retrieve the post.

The corpse sighed and rose on one elbow.

"That was not at all a suitable reaction, Watson! How can I help our client if you persist in this nerviness?!"

A dig in the ribs was his only answer as Watson made for the breakfast.

* * *

It surprises me how few people react when you stagger into a room, howling, with ketchup on your face. Or maybe I've just tried it one too many times.

I picture this whole thing occuring with Watson's nose buried in some postcard.


	91. Memory

**French is the closest I'll get to Latin, Colegram, so Kudos to _You!_**

**Thanks for the warm welcome back peoples, I'd respond to each and every review, but I suspect you'd rather have more drabbles. I'm hanging on every word. **

**And thats "dig in the ribs" with a toe mindmundane. Much easier than an elbow. :)**

**21. Memory**

**3 August, 1914**

**

* * *

**

They are together when it happens. One sprawled across the ratty bearskin rug, and the other curled up on the settee; they are really too old for such sleeping arrangements now.

Habit preceded them, after delivering a German spy to brother Mycroft, it seemed only natural to spend the night at Baker Street.

The small flat seems content to dwell on the past, bathing its tenants in early golden light, preserving them like an ageless photograph.

And then the peace and stillness is shattered by a great explosion in the street.

Instinct jerks Watson awake with a cry of terror.

* * *

**TBC...**


	92. War

**I was tempted to make you guys suffer. But then I looked at my inbox. **

**Golded rule in action guys. :D**

**22. War**

**

* * *

**

A lithe hand grips the doctor's knee and Sherlock Holmes raises himself on one elbow.

The flat remains, filled with the knickknacks of a bygone era and a comfortable coat of dust.

Watson's heart still beats in confusion, struggling against its ribcage, pumping adrenaline to tensed limbs.

Holmes gets stiffly to his feet and goes to the window. Through the grime he can see firecrackers and excited young voices rise up from the street.

He turns to his friend with a sad smile.

For the first time in a long time Watson is dark.

"They have no idea." He says.

* * *

**For the record, I don't know a lot about the morning of August 3 1914. But this is how I would have liked it to be for our two lads. **

** Fin**


	93. Faint II

**Because I couldn't leave Aragonite feeling pensive and sad. **

**And that was the war just starting Ari. :( the previous two take place just after "His Last Bow". *wails***

**Here's something to smile at anyway.**

**23. Faint**

* * *

Staying up late isn't a sin. The violin playing that night had been particularly good.

Skipping a meal isn't so bad, when your friend is a manic-must-always-be-running-out-the-door-depressive, meals _will_ be skipped.

Exercise is also good. Watson always enjoyed brisk strolls because they eased some of the tautness in his leg.

Climbing trees is unusual for Victorian gentleman. But Watson saw nothing particularly evil in it, since it was Holmes who held the binoculars.

But the combination of all four was perhaps not advisable.

It was only Holmes' hand in his collar that kept him from sliding completely off the branch.


	94. Trapped Escape pt 1

**Here you are my pretties! Read! READ! Bwahahahahaaa! *da dun da dun da dun dun...***

**As if life wasn't random enough.**

**24. Trapped**

* * *

Watson suddenly had more sympathy with foxes. It was a very unnerving experience to be driven by a snarling pack of dogs at your heels.

It was not so much the dogs he was worried about, they were hounds used for tracking and unlikely to attack him.

They're handlers would not be so courteous.

"There he is lads!"

His skin crawled at the shout and his heart jolted as he ran harder…and then the chase was dying down…moving away from him…

He stopped to catch his breath and heard shouts of triumph to his left.

Oh no…

"Holmes." He breathed.


	95. Stab Escape pt 2

**25. Teatime**

Sherlock Holmes and Doctor Watson sat safely ensconced in their sitting room at 221b Baker street. Holmes set down his pipe to partake in the loaded table before them. Watson happily scrapped a measure of strawberry preserve across a piece of bread.

"I say Holmes, Mrs. Hudson has outdone herself again."

"You're quite my dear fellow," said the detective, pouring himself a cup of tea, "Would you please pass the lemon?

"Certainly old boy," Watson did so, "It's quite pleasant to have no demands on our time isn't it? No murderous villains to pursue, no rabid animals to contend with—

* * *

**Ack! Wait…this isn't right is it?**

**This couldn't possibly be the drabble I meant to post. *rifles through files***

**Besides, it's a known fanon fact that Holmes always takes his tea with sugar and way too much of it!**

**Seriously though, did that fool any of you? :D**

**Here you go patient ones. The real McCoy (No KCS, not **_**that**_** McCoy, stop drooling and put that slipper down!).**

**25. Stab**

**

* * *

**

Watson peered cautiously through the thickset branches. A great huddle of men stood beyond, many of them slinging rifles. A pack of hounds ran excitedly around their legs, baying and wriggling and trying to get closer to the object in the center of the clearing.

Holmes lay, quite literally pinned, beneath a heavy net. The hunters stood on the edges to keep it down. The detective was helpless, his long limbs tangled in the webbing.

Watson gripped one of the thicker branches before him to stop his hand shaking, he did not feel the thorns that stabbed into his palm.


	96. Blood Escape pt 3

**The real McCoy means: the real thing/the original. **

**Here is an extra angsty helping for breakfast!...or dinner, or guilty midnight snack, or passing nibble...whatever. I slaved over it so eat-er-read it, okay?  
**

**Continued from 94 and 95 m'dears.**

**96. Blood

* * *

**

He did not want to watch.

To see his friend lying beneath the net, the taut ropes rising and falling rapidly as he breathed, eyes white as they strained upwards. He looked like a snared animal.

One of the men said something, softly so that Watson could not hear.

He stepped forward to where Holmes' hand lay outstretched. He turned his boot over it and smiled as the stuttering breaths took on a desperate note.

He pressed down, and the voice of Watson's dearest friend cried out in pain.

Two things snapped.

Bone…

…and Watson, as his vision washed red.

* * *

**Moar!later...**


	97. FIght! Escape pt 4

**Here you go. I meant to make you suffer, but I'm in an inescapably angsty mood this morning.**

**97. Fight!**

**and yeah, that exclamation is there on purpose! Rowr!**

* * *

Watson was not a violent man.

He was a gentleman and a doctor, gentle and compassionate by nature. War, grief, and all the thugs of Europe could not beat that out of him. But a whimper from one of his charges unleashed a wrath hitherto unknown.

If the charge was Holmes the wrath could become quite unholy.

He broke the nose and wrist of the man standing on Holmes' hand before anyone realized he was there.

He bloodied two and bruised another before they turned on him.

It was illogical, and probably stupid. But he felt a savage satisfaction anyway.

* * *

Moar!Coming...


	98. Effort Escape pt 5

**28. Effort**

**

* * *

**

There were too many for one man. But only one was left guarding the be-netted detective. The unfortunate sentinel soon found his face in the mud and his right arm twisted beyond endurance, he elected to remain where he was.

Two others were unconscious, but the last three had cornered the Doctor, pinning his arms, a blow to his side drove the air out of him.

Then a net dropped onto two of his attackers, and he squashed the last (a weasly little man) by falling onto him.

A hand gripped his collar, hauled him up.

"Run."

He did.

* * *

**Almost there!...**


	99. Exhausted Escape pt 6

**29. Exhausted**

**

* * *

**

It seems running always falls into a rhythm.

Whether from murderous Ghazi's, a hell-hound on a moor, or across a Rugby Pitch with two or three fellows on your back; after the initial burst of speed it follows a pattern, your footfalls, your breathing, even your heart rate.

This one, Watson decided, was more of a triple meter, which was probably because Holmes was leading the way.

Or perhaps he was just tired, he reflected, as he stumbled and the hand caught him again.

"C'mon," Holmes gasped, no longer imperious really, more winging.

"Bloody Valkyries." Watson wheezed, and ran on.

* * *

**Forgive me, I took one music class, caput, and I know Valkyries is compound triple meter. But who's to say whether Watson knows that or not. Holmes is the one screeching on a violin at all hours. (which can be way more annoying than it sounds, my roommate last autumn...*shudder*).**

**OneMoar!...**


	100. Limp Escape pt 7

**For Socrates. Poor girl, I'm such a bleeding heart I couldn't leave you hanging. Here you go.**

**29. Limp**

**

* * *

**

Compartment 27 of the express from Heathrow was occupied.

This was learnt the hard way by a nosy barrister. His ears still rang after he'd slammed the door to and tottered away.

The rest of the journey was peaceful with only muted conversation from the little smoke-filled room.

So still, in fact, that the porter had to enter the compartment to tell the occupants they had arrived in London.

Through the haze he made out two forms, slumped against one another, the taller with his hand wrapped tightly in a scarf. Snoring like a pair of hippos with head colds.

* * *

**Fin**


	101. Struggle Recovery pt 1

**Thanks for all the well wishes m'dears. I'm glad you're enjoying this little series so much. **

**Bear in mind that a lot of these stories will have no real context. Backgrounds may be left unspoken, and conclusions hanging. If you're really intent on a certain one (you claim you will die without knowing) I will try to continue, but by definition they are drabbles. They're meant to leave you unsatisfied, like those very small cereal boxes that only have a mouthful in each.**

**Often I have no storyline in mind at all, but a concept, like in the drabble below. **

**Enjoy.**

**31. Struggle**

I believe Watson could swim upward through a waterfall if he had too. He is _game_ personified. Sheer doggedness and an unbreakable spirit are often his greatest weapons.

I had to remind myself of this many times through the years, when Watson lay injured, or ill, or comatose.

I just had to wait and be patient. Eventually the pale eyelids would shiver, the unconscious grunt would sound in the back of his throat, and the hazel orbs would open.

This is no different.

Ignore the empty halls around you.

The cold chair beneath.

His very cold, still hand.

Be patient…


	102. Stranded Recovery pt 2

**Alright, you asked for it. Concepts be hanged. The angst wagon is here, please present your tickets and find your designated seats and we will continue. **

**Those horrible, rubbery, tasteless peanuts will be served. **

**Feel free to throw them at passers-by**

**Continued from 101. **

**32. Stranded**

* * *

I _was _patient…

I waited while nurses came and went, heavy shoes clomping and squeaking across the slick floors.

Watson is fond of Barts as its' his old school hospital. But I hate it. I hated being there in the dark oppressive room, with the thick walls and polished wood, more like a mausoleum than anything else.

I hated the smells of carbolic and linen that made me turn expectantly to my friend every time they wafted past.

I couldn't leave when it became dark and the dim lamps were put on.

Because his eyes never opened.

I couldn't leave.

* * *

**Moar!coming…**


	103. Promise Recovery pt 3

**To Wirral and Cat. Two of the warmest, friendliest people I know.**

**33. Promise**

**

* * *

**

Patience became resignation, I sat without energy, like an old cart horse on a track its' done a million times before.

My head ached with holding back troubling thoughts, and my hands were as cold as the one I held. I was ingrained so deeply into the hard chair that I missed the moment he opened his eyes.

He gripped my arm, clumsy, half conscious as I was.

"Holmes."

I blinked stupidly at him.

"You need rest."

"Don't want to leave." I muttered.

"I'll be here."

I meant to answer...

...but woke much later with my head on the coverlet.

* * *

**Fin.**


	104. Fear

**Nothing graphic, but mentions of gore in this one. **

**For Rabidsamsfan and Pompey, the instigators of Watson's history in this fandom (in my opinion).**

**34. Fear**

**

* * *

**

"I'm not afraid of anything." He told himself, and it could have been true.

His hands were steady, his voice was calm, and the sweat that glinted on his browned skin could have been from the heat of the Afghani sun.

The men in his care were afraid, eyes white, whimpering, groaning and in some cases screaming for help, or Mama, or Death.

He could not be afraid when he felt their poor hacked bodies trembling under his hands, when he held the scalpel, when he might be the last thing they see.

"I'm not afraid." And they believed him.

* * *

**I use waaay too many W's**


	105. Swim

**35. Swim**

* * *

"Must we really do this?"

"You must learn, Watson."

"I don't see why."

"You live on an island!"

"It's hardly the tropics, my dear Holmes."

"A great many of our cases are of a nautical nature."

"Name one."

"The Friesland."

"Name two."

"Our encounter with Mr. Twain in 89."

"Name thre—"

"No more winging! Get in."

"Couldn't we have waited to acquire proper bathing costumes first? A frigid lake in the middle of may in only my knickers…"

"You have more meat on you, how do you think_ I_ feel."

"Snide."

"Get in."

"Wait—No! I'm not—"

**SPLASH!**

* * *

**Bwahahaa! The lesson's begin. My brothers used to do this sort of thing, which might explain why I'm so twisted.**


	106. Danger

**36. Danger**

* * *

"No, Watson!"

I was somewhat taken aback when I arrived at my friend's home in Sussex one pleasant autumn day in 1906. Instead of greeting me warmly he'd staggered back in horror.

I removed my goggles.

"Dear fellow, it's only a machine."

"No!"

"No, what?" I leaned over the wheel, he stepped further away.

"No I don't want a ride in that…that…_deathtrap!"_

"It's not a deathtrap!"

"It's a tin can with an unstable electrical engine!"

"It's a modern—"

"_Death. Trap."_

At that point the settling engine growled and my automobile shuddered.

I'd never seen Holmes jump quite that high.

* * *

**A/N: **

**I can drive.**

**I like to drive.**

**Cars are nice and save me time and effort and keep me safe. **

**But they make me as jittery as a cricket on caffine. **


	107. Cemetery

**37. Cemetary**

* * *

Arthur Binglesby respected privacy. He expected no less from others when he visited his wife's grave. So when a thin man strode past with a spade over his shoulder he said nothing.

But he couldn't help staring when the man returned half an hour later accompanied by a shorter gentleman with a moustache. Both were covered head to foot in mud. The spade was missing.

"Good evening," said the tall man winningly, catching the second as he staggered.

Binglesby gaped, then turned back to his flowers.

He didn't even look up when four roughs sped past ten minutes after that.

* * *

**A little different...you like?**


	108. Hmm

**I'm really kind of stealing Pompey's style here. But impression is the best form of flattery. **

* * *

PGF sat staring at her computer screen, undecided.

Watson scowled.

"I don't like this at all…"

"Why not, old fellow?" Holmes drew a long draft from his pipe. "She's being productive again. Thanks to her and all the other 'fandom' writers we continue to exist."

"But for what purpose? Torture? Did you see what she just wrote?"

"It was a little vague…I assume I was digging you out of a grave."

"She buried me alive! Casually! Off-hand! And already she's getting requests to expand it! What if she writes a one-shot?"

"Well, that's rather up to the readers isn't it?"

* * *

**Get it?**

**Get It?**

**:D**


	109. Honour

37. Honour.

* * *

When Mycroft had left the flat, and finally clattered down the seventeen steps. Watson turned on his friend with an incredulous look.

"You turned it down."

Holmes scraped the bow across tense strings, producing a contented hum.

"A knighthood. For heaven's sake, why?"

"I am contented as I am."

"It's the formal affairs isn't it. Who knows how many dress kits you'd have to be stuffed into."

"No…that would be unpleasant, but that was not my real reasoning, Watson."

Watson sat "Then pray, tell me, _why_?"

Holmes made a face. "Sherlock Holmes I can live with…"

Watson grimaced in sympathy.

* * *

**Seriously you guys. It's so obvious.**

**Sir Arthur sounds cool.**

**Sir _Sherlock…really?_**


	110. AHA! part 1

**We interupt our regularly scheduled angst table to bring you this!**

**Forgive me...I couldn't help myself. He won't get out of my head.**

* * *

All was peaceful and still in the dinky flat.

PGF lay where she had passed out on the sofa, surrounded by empty Mountain Dew bottles, a pizza box, discarded converses, socks, a biography of the thirteenth Dalai Lama, and one battered pith helmet.

Doctor Who played softly on the screen of the laptop in her arms.

She could have been a log and it wouldn't really have changed much.

This is why she failed to notice the tall, thin man slip into the room with a set of lock-picks.

…failed to notice until he bellowed.

"AH-HA!"

Doctor Who went flying.

* * *

**Moarcoming!**

**If you want me to stop...well it might be too late for that.**


	111. AHA! part 2

"AH-HA!" said the man and PGF did the only sensible thing a girl can do when a strange man is in her apartment.

She reached for a weapon.

"Stay back!"

The man stared dubiously at the coat-hanger being waved under his nose.

"Do you intend to somehow incapacitate or otherwise injure me with that flimsy contraption?" He said with a superior look that declared his immunity against all coat-hook wielding females.

PGF gaped.

He sighed and rubbed his forehead, "Enough. I would be obliged if you would skip the screaming. There is something important I need to discuss with you."

* * *

**Coat hangers work much better when you are five. **


	112. AHA! part 3

_**The madness continues...**_

**_Hide your puppydogs!_**

* * *

"Discuss?" PGF muttered.

"Yes!" said Holmes, who hated repeating himself, "You in fact…your recent actions…"

"Oh ye gods," PGF cursed and slumped back onto her sofa. "This isn't a Dickens thing, is it?"

The detective's mouth curled in displeasure. "What?"

"You aren't here to visit my past, or warn me about my future are you? Make me repent the error of my ways?" PGF sighed against her coat-hanger. "You're a figment of a guilty imagination…except I'm not guilty."

"I beg to disagree," Holmes growled.

"Then what did I do?"

"You're caused serious injury to a friend of mine."

"Who?"

"Watson."

* * *

_**Moar on the way!**_


	113. AHA! part 4

**I don't mean this to be a self plug. My conscience is just taking a very odd shape lately. **

**

* * *

**

Holmes removed a small memorandum book from his pocket and cleared his throat.

"You first assaulted Watson in January 2008 in the travesty called _A Brother Noble. _ He sustained several broken ribs, a broken wrist and a severe concussion. You rounded that off with a painful rediscovery of the circumstances of his brother's death."

He lowered the book, and glowered at the wide-eyed PGF.

"No more than a month later you subjected him to a near-drowning, and a painful, exotic disease which lasted an agonizing three days. All this under the maudlin title _Vows Made in Storms._

"Shall I continue?"

* * *

**And yes, the memorandum book is meant to be a parallel, you canonites. **

**Onwards**


	114. AHA! part 5

**This story does have a point...I think...it might have gotten lost between the couch cushions. Let me check.**

* * *

"Watson had not even fully recovered before you started on another travesty. In _That Whiter Host _you subsequently froze him, had him shot at, and tortured him with _unfounded_ mental anguish. I will not comment upon the injuries visited upon the midshipman and myself, I am only glad we were there to spare Watson from suffering them as well."

Captivated by her Idee Fixe spouting off her stories, PGF had remained silent on the couch. Now she raised her hand.

"Yes?" Holmes drawled impatiently.

"How is Lachlan, by the way?"

"He is in New Zealand with Miss VHunter."

"Jolly good."

* * *

**Sorry Vi, had to mention you m'dear. Hope you're well.**

**For all of you unaware, Lachlan was given as a gift to the fanfiction author VHunter, because she loved him to pieces, and ranted about him more than anyone else in her excellent reviews.**

**If anyone wishes to borrow Lachlan for a fic just send me a line. I handle all his business ventures.  
**

**Moar coming people!**


	115. AHA! part 6

**Sorry for the lateness, was out of my mind. But I brought you all a souvenir!**

* * *

"Those aren't all my fault you know."

Holmes rounded on PGF (who wisely cowered). "What?"

"KCS wrote half of those stories." PGF squeaked.

Holmes straightened slowly, "Ahh. Yes. Your partner in crime. Notorious for her criminal dabbling in mine and Watson's lives. She is not my concern at the moment."

"Well, that's not fair."

"I believe she is currently torturing a Dr. McCoy from the Star Trek Fandom...She seems to have a thing for Doctors."

"Not as much as she has for Sp-"

"IF I may continue! What concerns me most is not your past crimes, but your _latest_ atrocity!"

* * *

**Moar on the way!...along with the final chapter for "Premature Sentance".**

**Unless of course, KCS kills me for this. If an arrogant, skinny englishman ends up on your doorstep, chum...its not my fault!**


	116. AHA! part 7

**Happy Independence America! (a bit late).**

* * *

"So you're here…because I wrote a story in which—"

"In which Watson has been buried alive!" Holmes snapped pacing before the couch and gnawing on his pipe, the pizza box and mountain dew bottles victims of his heavy Victorian shoes.

PGF scowled where she sat. There had still been pizza in that box.

"Many of the struggles I can understand. Our cases are often dangerous, especially with all our new writers. Doyle was much more reserved. You are a bloodthirsty lot.

"But to cause Watson such agony for no reason at all! That, Ms. Gray, I cannot stand for!"

* * *

**No, my dear Alexwacrap, no history of mental illness. But there's a first time for everything isn't there?**


	117. AHA! part 8

**HAPPY BIRTHDAY WATSON!...five days late..._Shoot!_**

* * *

"What do you have to say for yourself?"

"I knew it was going too far."

Holmes glowered, "But that didn't stop you from doing it."

"The readers…"

"Ah ah ah!" one turbulent finger shushed the girl and Holmes continued in satisfaction. "Don't give me that excuse. That is Watson's excuse. You write for yourself and your own amusement. That is the secret of every guilty author."

"That's not-"

An eyebrow rose.

"I don't-"

It rose higher.

PGF sighed and rested her chin on her hands.

"Alright, I'm a hopeless Boswell sadist. What do you want me to do about it?"

* * *

**Finally Holmes will have his revenge!...or will he?**


	118. AHA! part 9

**I've never had so many people stand up for me in _reviews_ before. You guys could make a person cry.**

* * *

Holmes pulled out the little book again. "I have several suggestions…"

PGF frowned at his rather smug face. She did not much like snide people who read lists out of little books. Especially when they interrupted her Dr. who and tramped all over her pizza.

"Wait a minute…"

Holmes looked up.

"When it comes to addictions…isn't this a case of the pot calling the frying pan black?"

"Kettle, actually.."

"They're BOTH black. Answer the question, you indulge in cocaine for your amusement?"

"Yes."

The author raised her finger, "and doesn't that cause Watson no end of grief?"

Holmes hesitated.

"Aha!"

* * *

**Uh-oh! What's this? Does the fanfic author have a spine after all? Will her mettle stand up against that of a supercilious English gentleman?**

**Does it even matter? You're just here to see the face off aren't you? **


	119. AHA! part 10

**Meh... I'm too lazy for a clever authors note. Here, have some cookies.**

* * *

"That isn't my fault!" Holmes snapped at the impertinent girl. "I was written with a cocaine habit."

"Uh-uh. That's the excuse of every character. The author made you do it. And yet somehow, you were stubborn and headstrong enough to annoy Doyle into shoving you over a waterfall." PGF said smugly.

"Yet more evidence of bloodthirsty writers!"

"At least I've never killed you off!"

"You've come very close to it!"

"And I've restored you to perfect health by the end of every story!"

"_After_ grinding me into mince meat!"

"That's it! I've heard enough!" shouted a new voice. Silence reigned.

* * *

**tbc...**


	120. AHA! part 11

**Its raining! No seriously, that's a big deal here. And not just a drizzle, thunder, lightning, shebang, the works. Sounded like Concord and Lexington outside, I was squealing and hiding under pillows. I'm as warm and happy inside an English muffin in a toaster.**

* * *

"I have heard quite enough!"

Holmes and PGF turned as one, to see an imposing, mustachioed gentleman standing in the doorway. He was dressed much like Holmes in 19th century style clothing.

"It is as I feared!" snapped the man. "You are both hopeless."

"Dr. Watson?" PGF stammered thinking that this man was rather stouter than he should be.

"What? No!" Holmes turned on her incredulously. "You profess to care about Watson, but you don't know what he looks like? This man is not Watson."

"Enough," Sir Arthur Conan Doyle repeated. "This argument is sheer folly, it will stop now."

* * *

**And Kudos to everyone who guessed the voice. KCS and Watson were very likely too.**

**Now we're in for some fun-**


	121. AHA! part 12

**Don't get me wrong. I love Doyle. How could I not? But like every other brilliant, British, Victorian Author, he must have been hard to deal with. **

**And how many of you wouldn't want to put a pie in his armchair for the whole Reichenbach business?**

* * *

"My dear sir, this is none of your affair," said Sherlock Holmes, folding his arms.

"Everything you do is my affair," said Doyle, mirroring the detective's actions. "I'm your Author."

"He's public domain now," piped up PGF, "Besides, you're dead."

"That's right," Said Holmes. "You're reign of terror is at an end. In the words of this very modern era of which you are not a part; 'you are not my boss'."

"I'm not done yet. And I've brought leverage."

"Beg pardon?"

Voices began to build in the hall outside. A lot of voices.

Doyle smiled.

Holmes swallowed.

PGF face-palmed.

* * *

**This way for the harry-ness...**


	122. AHA! part 13

**If you get lost in this next part...**

**...just imagine what writing it was like.**

* * *

PGF had never seen a horde like this before.

Hordes of students, hordes of tourists, and hordes of seagulls, yes.

But the horde currently pouring into her living room seemed to be made up of a little bit of everything; gentlemen in Victorian clothes, a handful wearing trench coats, a dashing fellow in tights with a longbow, street urchins, countless Dalmatians, several people in long dark capes, a tall man who said 'Sink me!', a boy with disorderly black hair, unshaven cowboys and pirates, a booming voice shouting for 'PEABODY!' and a black panther.

And then there were the fangirls…

* * *

**I meant harry-ness as in general "its about to get hairy in here". Only afterwards did I realize I'd mispelt hairy. So I put him in there for you guys.**

**But its not over yet, biggest wave is yet to come!**


	123. AHA! part 14

**Wow...pulled a hiatus there didn't I?**

**Could have sent a letter...but I'm not dead, aren't you happy!**

**...yeah I'd be irritated too. Here's a party to make up for it. **

* * *

"Get back!" Sherlock Holmes waved the coat hanger at the multitude of shrieking females.

PGF was engaged in a shouting match with ACD. Neither of them could be heard amidst the chaos.

"Now this is what I call leverage," said a tipsy pirate as he stole the last of the Mountain Dew.

"We need more pizza!" said someone.

"Is there any decent brandy in this flat?"

Holmes fought his way to the television and switched it on in hopes of distracting the fangirls.

Luckily for him, it was set to BBCAmerica.

"Jeremy Brett Marathon!"

"I'll make popcorn!"

So it began…

* * *

**And still not everyone's here...moar to come!**


	124. AHA! part 15

Daniel Mopson, resident Pizza Boy, had seen some pretty weird stuff in the course of his job.

But when the door to his destination swung open he had to admit, this was one of the weirdest.

He gaped as a small blond man shoved a few bills into his hand, took the stack of pizzas, and promptly began to consume them.

"It…it's bigger on the inside!" He gasped finally, "That…that's impossible!"

"Only improbable," Holmes corrected, snagging a pepperoni.

"Simple reverse polarity flow!" added the be-pinstripped nutter with his nose in the Hawaiian.

The door shut.

"Illya stop hogging the anchovy!"

* * *

**okay, now i'm just indulging myself. About time to bring this to a close. **

**A word to the wise: never invite Mr. Kuryakin to a party. He will eat all your food and somehow manage to blow up your car in the same night.**


	125. AHA! part 16

With the fangirls satiated, and the pizza cravings conquered, things were pretty peaceful until yet another (very impatient) knock at the door.

Sir Percy (being a gentleman) obligingly opened it.

"Hrmph," grumbled the old man in the entry, "Its' about time, its' cold out there."

"Talk about the north," Grinned a younger…well a very young man in a tweed coat as he elbowed another in a leather jacket.

"Oh no," groaned the pin-striped Doctor.

"You invited his regenerations?" PGF glared at ACD, who smirked.

"I never wanted to come," said Sherlock, closing the door behind hm.

"Be polite," murmured John.

* * *

**I've lost track of the number of bad jokes i've made in this. Please forgive. **

**And yes, ALL known 11, AND the BBC versions. Wouldn't be complete without them would it? (technically this is my first BBCSherlock ficlet *throws confetti*)**


	126. AHA! part 17

**And so it begins to end!**

**Wow...that sounded way more epic in my head than it looks on this page. **

* * *

It was a battlefield. Bodies lay scattered over the ground, and everything was eerily silent.

Four people appeared in the chaos in a shower of gold.

One man, obviously the leader, whispered in horror "What is this…"

"Something I fear we are too late to prevent, Captain," said the tallest individual.

The leader turned to the shortest in the group, a young woman with red hair and fierce green eyes.

"Are you certain you gave us the right coordinates?"

"Oh yeah," said the girl, gritting her teeth. "PGF!"

"Oh dear," murmured McCoy, as one of the bodies sat bolt upright.

* * *

**Dun dun dunnn! Finally, some sanity arrives; in the form of the Walking Canon, A Vulcan, A Doctor (not a timelord) and a suicidally brilliant Starship captain. **

**What? I never claimed my sanity was very sane.**

**KCS would have been very disappointed if I didn't give these guys cameos. That's the only reason! (hides TeamSpock shirt). **


	127. AHA! part 18

"What? What?" PGF sat up and looked blearily around. "Ohhhhh…."

"Yes. Oh," said KCS, folding her arms, which looked quite intimidating with three Starfleet officers behind her. "What were you thinking?"

"I can explain," said PGF, trying to ignore the multitude of fangirls and fictional characters around her, covered in popcorn, pillows and blankets, and thoroughly unconscious.

"This should be good," McCoy drawled.

"No one asked you."

"Now you look here missy-"

KCS threw up a hand for silence, ruining the argument and sending the argumentee's into a fantastic pout.

"Spock…are you smirking?"

"Vulcan's do not smirk, Captain."

"Of course."

* * *

**I have nothing to say...**

**But it looked lonely and white down here. **

***offers popcorn***

**And no...Spock is not referring to KCS as Captain, he and Kirk are snarking in the background. **

**I'm sure he'd call he'd believe you were a captian if he met you tho chum. :)  
**


	128. AHA! part 19

**Sorry, its been awhile. Been having trouble with fanfiction . net and gmail.**

* * *

"But the solar system!" demanded KCS.

"You mean the space time continuum," corrected the Tenth Doctor.

"Yes, thank you. Listen PGF, you can't go cramming all these different universes into one fanfiction. The universe won't stand it. This isn't even a proper story, it's a drabble series!"

"It's not like I've broken any laws!" protested PGF, "There is no fanfiction police force!"

"And they're more like guidelines anyway," drawled a drunken voice from the floor.

"Shut up _Captain_ Sparrow, you're not helping."

"Just how many captains are in here?" Kirk frowned.

Fifteen people raised their hands.

Spock raised his eyebrow.

* * *

**I guess captain is just a sexy title. **


	129. AHA! part 20

"And how many detectives?" asked KCS.

PGF shuffled her feet. "Does that include the hard-boiled ones? Because Mr. Spade and I aren't exactly friends…"

"How many?"

"…and detective is such an ambiguous term…"

"Give me numbers!"

PGF sighed. "Twenty-five…give or take."

KCS gaped. "And don't you think you're just a little obsessed?"

"This from the girl who knows Dr. McCoy's middle name?"

"You two leave me outta this!"

"Look," said Kirk. "I'm sure we can all resolve this civilly. Let's just sit down and start from the beginning."

"Captain diplomat."

"Put the Mountain Dew away Bones. It's making you cranky."

* * *

**Honestly does anyone know of a detective-obsessed anonymous?**

**Sam Spade is one of the old Film Noir detectives I'm taking a class on. Think trench-coats, leaky diners, and cigars. So far Philip Marlowe is my favorite.**

**Leonard Horatio McCoy**.


	130. AHA! interlude

"Wait a minute!" Holmes barked.

The room went still. All eyes (187 to be exact) swiveled to the detective.

"What?" asked Conan Doyle, who was really quite tired of his creation by this point and was contemplating throwing him from a second waterfall.

"This story has 900 reviews!"

187 eyes blinked in surprise.

"Really?" gasped PGF.

"Indeed. Apparently the readers consider 129 odd chapters to be worth 900 reviews of praise."

"Huh," The Doctor mused. "For such a bloodthirsty lot they can be quite…"

"Touching?" remarked Illya.

"Gorgeous?" suggested Napoleon.

"Loyal?" added Sir Percy.

McCoy sniffed loudly.

"Fascinating," murmured Spock.

* * *

**900 flipping reviews! I literally dropped out of my seat!**

**I let them say it, coz I would have a hard time speaking around the lump of happiness right now. You guys are wonderful. **


	131. AHA! part 21

**Illogicality is actually a word.**

**93 heroes + 1 dalek =187 eyes. Ha ha! I got you!  
**

**

* * *

**

"It's time we resolved this," Said Mr. Spock, who was a little uncomfortable in the illogicality of the whole situation.

"Yes," insisted ACD.

"What are you talking about?" snorted PGF. "You brought everyone here!"

"I didn't, they followed me!"

"And we followed them," added KCS.

"And I followed him!" ACD pointed to the far wall…the far far wall. Where Sherlock Holmes sat, examining the laptop with the eleventh Doctor's help.

"…and this is the battery here…"

"Don't tell him that!" roared the ninth Doctor. "You'll create an anomaly!"

Eleven blinked and gestured at the room, "I thought this qualified already."

* * *

**Nine was paranoid and Ten was bossy**. **Eleven is the first Doctor i've known who doesn't mind bending the rules quite so much as the others. **


	132. AHA! part 22

**GOnly a handful left...I think...**

* * *

"Oh that's right!" said Ten gleefully, like a small child with a lot of money in a large candy shop.

Holmes toppled off the couch as the sonic screwdriver whirred an inch from his nose.

"Oi," muttered Eleven. "Leave 'im alone."

Ten read his screwdriver, now ignoring the detective on the floor.

"He is an anomaly, but not the original anomaly. He wasn't the first one to break into this universe."

"He didn't?" chorused everybody.

"No." muttered Holmes from the floor.

"But if ACD didn't, and he didn't, and I didn't…then who did?" asked PGF.

Someone cleared their throat politely.

* * *

***Gasp!* Whoever could that be**?


	133. AHA! part 23

Everyone turned to look…and blinked; for in the doorway stood an individual, that was so commonplace and ordinary, he stood out in the crowd of eccentrics filling the flat.

The gentleman—for no one could mistake him for anything else-removed his hat.

"I must claim responsibility for this…gathering," he said, crossing the room and helping Holmes to his feet.

ACD found his voice, and sputtered, "You? But that's impossible! You're a fictional character!"

"Only Improbable," corrected Spock, secretly relieved that something sensible had at last made an appearance.

"But how?" asked Holmes.

Dr. Watson smiled, "elementary, my dear fellow."

* * *

**Wow, I didn't realize I'd built up the tension for his entrance this much…or is it just me?**

**Ha! No, Watson's fantastic! *sits back to enjoy***


	134. AHA! part 24

"It is true I am a fabricated character," said Watson. "But I am also an author like our dear creator here." He gave ACD's shoulder a little pat. "I have a solid footing in fiction, and I can influence reality."

"So you have influence over both universes," Spock mused

Harry Potter blinked and leaned in to whisper into Hermione's ear.

"Do you understand this?"

Hermione sniffed, "Of course, Harry, it's a simple question of origin and the plane of existence…"

"Well you've lost me completely," Said Ron.

"That makes two of us," McCoy muttered, and passed him the Mountain Dew.

* * *

**Not even I know what the heck it means. I blame my philosophy professor.**

**And I've always had a slight grudge at the way ACD referred to Watson. So here Watson gets to one up him. **


	135. AHA! part 25

"But why?" interrupted one of the fangirls.

"Pardon?" Watson turned, and the girl turned red as his hazel eyes fell on her. But it is a well-known fact that Holmesian-fangirls are a doughty lot, so she spoke her mind.

"Why did you bring us all here? Not that it's not fun; who wouldn't want to stay up till three in the morning with your heroes, eating pizza, and watching Jeremy Brett until your brains rot? But I want to know, why?"

"Yeah!" said another girl.

"She has a point!" added a third.

The room went silent waiting for Watson's answer.

* * *

**Doughty means brave, staunch, noble, hearty, strong, stalwart, aka: freaking awesome.**

**Please mentally insert yourself in this chapter with whichever of these adjectives fits you best. **


	136. AHA! part 26

"Why, you ask?" said Watson, striding to the fire and stopping to lean against the mantle, casting a rather dramatic shadow over the scene.

"When did we get a fireplace?" asked Pongo quietly.

"It all began a few months ago, when London was in the midst of—"

"No!" Holmes interrupted suddenly. While the rest of the audience had sat down to listen, he sprang up and waved his hands. "No no nonononononono noooooo."

"What's wrong?" Watson wilted.

"This fiction is confusing enough; without another fiction within a fiction. I will simply deduce why you brought us here."

Holmes began…

* * *

**I swear I'm not delaying. We will have Watson's answer. Holmes simply won't shut up.**


	137. AHA! part 27

"I can see from the first knuckle on your right hand that you opened a door between fiction and reality, and let these…people, come through into this flat…"

McCoy laughed, "Yeah, right."

Spock glared at him, "Doctor, if you will cease interrupting I'm certain Mr. Holmes will reveal the chain of logic that led him to this inference."

"Oh Susannah! The Vulcan's the biggest fangirl of all!"

Then a slim gentleman in a dark suit waved a gun and said in a soft British lilt, "Fiction or no, I will hear this explanation one way or another."

McCoy shut up.

* * *

**There you go, it takes James Bond to make McCoy be quiet, maybe now we won't have so many interruptions. I didn't know how to make it clear he was James Bond, since the room is already full of slim British gentlemen in suits...but then he is a spy. The gun's the biggest throwback.  
**

.


	138. AHA! part 28

"Really, Holmes," Watson chuckled, "I'm afraid I share Dr. McCoy's skepticism. How could you possibly connect my right hand with a rift in reality?"

"Because," said Holmes, pacing before the fire, and an audience of avid pirates. "That is the hand with which you habitually punch the wall beside your desk when you are having trouble writing. It is bruised."

Watson examined his hand, "so it is, but I also punch that wall when I am frustrated with you…"

"Ah, but Watson, there is also an ink-stain on your cuff…"

Silence, save for the crunching of popcorn from Captain Kirk.


	139. AHA! part 29

**Hey! *Staggers in wearing party hat and shedding confetti* So I GRADUATED! :D That could be my excuse for disappearing for so long, but not a very good one. I'm sorry for leaving you all. Here's some more, and I have two months of freedom. So there WILL be very regular updates in most of my stories. **

* * *

"Very well," conceded Watson. "I became frustrated with my writing and punched the wall. That still does not explain how I supposedly created a doorway between fiction and reality."

Holmes smiled. "My dear Watson, you caused a rift between the universes _because_ you punched the wall."

Again, silence.

"You mean he _punched_ a window through the plane of existence?" asked Captain Jack Harkness, looking impressed.

"And what next?" asked Lord Wimsey in astonishment. "Will he go about raisin' the dead too?"

"Now, now, Pete m'boy." McCoy patted the Englishman's thin shoulder. "Watson and I are just doctors, not miracle workers."

* * *

**I've started watching the Peter Wimsey series, and I'll probably soon read the books. Why is it attractive English detectives are always skinny?**

**And come on. I had to let McCoy quote that just ONCE.**


	140. VOILA! part 30

***Sniff* Aww you guys. Welcoming me back just like that. Not even a single tomato. And then heaps and heaps of reviews that I can't respond too because of my stupid gmail.**

**How then can I thank you?**

**Have some more fic!**

* * *

"Alright," said KCS, accepting, without hesitation, the fact that Dr. John Watson was epic enough to punch a hole through the walls of reality. "But if you were the one who created the doorway…why weren't you the first one here?"

Watson looked sheepish. "I had an epiphany, I've been writing for the past few hours. I couldn't just leave…"

All the fangirls murmured and nodded sympathetically.

"A plotbunny," said one.

"Got him good," said another.

"You never know when they'll strike."

"Speaking of spontaneous ideas and convoluted plots…" interrupted Poirot.

Captain Hastings smiled at his friend's vocabulary, but listened silently.

* * *

**Yes yes, more detectives. But as much as I love Holmes, I always found Poirot's problems to be far more complicated and sticky *coughOrientExpresscough***. **So he is the next one to bring reason into this mess. **


	141. AHA! part 31

**Thank you for the reviews and the congrat messages you guys! And for the virtual cookie Reflekshun!  
**

* * *

"Perhaps it would bring some order to our situation if we were to review the facts," said Poirot.

"Yes, please do," drawled Dr. House from the corner, sinking yet another call shot. Wilson and Spade rolled their eyes, and Five muttered that he much preferred cricket over billiards.

Poirot continued.

"At some time last evening, Dr. Watson, frustrated by his writing, used his dual influence as both a character and an author to _punch_ a breach through reality, yes?"

"Accidentally," added Watson.

"But you did not immediately go through it," Poirot whirled on Holmes.

"That M. Holmes, was _your_ move."

* * *

**House was requested by Lisbeth. Merry Christmas.**

**Not everyone is here yet Smallrose ;)**


	142. AHA! part 32

**Dedicated to Edward Hardwicke** **and Liz Sladen. (thanks Tapdog)**

* * *

Holmes towered over the little Belgian, but their twin glares reminded one more of two tigers pacing.

"You were the first to fully enter this universe," said Poirot. "Hardly surprising mon amie, for you are as curious as a cat."

"All part of the trade isn't it?" said Three, smiling at Sarah Jane.

"Except that curiosity was not the only thing that drove him to this house," said Poirot.

Watson sighed. "Holmes, are you trying to meddle with the laws of the universe again?"

"_Again_?"

"I was seeing justice done," defended Holmes, and pointed at ACD. "_This_ creature followed me here."

* * *

**Sorry Smallrose, I don't know anything about Tommy and Tuppence.**

**And yes, Revilry. _Murder by Death_ is possibly the funniest movie I've ever seen. I join you in recommendin' it.**


	143. AHA! part 33

**Here's a second one, coz I was so late. Sorry about that. I suffered a bit of a blow. Thanks for the reviews!  
**

* * *

Doyle huffed. "See if I ever look after your welfare again."

"_You threw me off a cliff!"_

"And the rest of you followed Doyle?" Watson asked the others.

There were general murmurs of assent through the room.

"What about the fangirls?" asked Wimsey (ever concerned with the ladies).

Hastings cleared his throat. "Imagine you were one of them, old bean, and you saw a crowd of fictional celebrities troopin' past your window. What would you do?"

"Oh," said Wimsey.

"So this whole gathering is just a happenstance," sighed Ms. Marple. "And I was so hoping for an evil plot."

* * *

**I like to think that Hastings and Wimsey like to have a spot of tea and discuss the sneakiness of Poirot and Bunter.**

**For anyone uninformed. Hastings is Poirot's awesome (slightly more bumbling than Watson) sidekick. And Bunter is Wimsey's Valet (like Jeeves and James Bond mixed).**


	144. AHA! part 34

**For agent ERA**

* * *

While the cluster of English, and Belgian detectives continued to argue, the other occupants in the room grew bored.

The billiard game ended and House started a card game with Bond and a couple of cops called Stokes and Sanders; Bunter acting as dealer.

Doctor Twelve and Amy Pond were cavorting with the pirates. Ten and Two were having a sing-along with the dalmations. The Merry Men began a shooting contest.

It was remarkable Holmes could be heard above the noise when he finally lost patience. "This has gone far enough. Ms. Gray, this argument is between you and me."

* * *

**Oh! look! The point! I can see the point at hand again!**


	145. AHA! part 35

"Are you accusin' this young lady of some injury, Holmes?" asked Wimsey with an undertone of steel.

It was not often the Victorian detective met someone who could look him directly in the eye, monocle or no.

"Precisely that, Wimsey," Holmes answered sharply. "This young _lady_ has caused grievous harm to my Boswel."

"What _precisely_ did she do?"

"She buried him alive."

A few of the fictional members gasped. Wimsey shrugged.

"Is that all?"

Holmes sputtered.

"What do you mean?"

"_My canon _author buried me in a collapsed trench," he glanced comradely at Watson. "At least you had a coffin."


	146. AHA! part 36

"It was nothing personal dear," Sayers waved from the sofa. Wimsey smiled and waved back.

"How can you treat this so cavalierly?" Holmes demanded. "

"Well it's what we're here for isn't it?" Said Wimsey. "Doyle created you to be an exceptional man, and to make you less of a god he has to give you exceptional struggles to go through. Thankfully he gave you an exceptional friend to do it with."

"It is those struggles that make us who we are, Holmes," said Watson gently. "Or have you forgotten a fortuitous bullet that brought me where I am today?"

**Watson is referring to the bullet that struck him in Afghanistan, retired him alive from the army, and eventually led to his meeting Holmes. **


	147. AHA! part 37

"Be that as it may…" Holmes began.

"The fact that you remain so popular today is partly due to these fangirls," tenth doctor interrupted rudely, "and bloodthirsty or no, you still owe them thanks…or at least a little privacy."

Watson tutted. "Really old boy, breaking into a young lady's room in the middle of the night..."

Holmes colored.

"Well never mind, never mind," said the first doctor, waving his cratchety-old-man-cane. "The party is now over. I'm taking all of you young people home immediately. You're in no fit state to drive."

"But it was only Mountain Dew!" protested McCoy, drunkenly.

**McCoy and I would be the best Mountain Dew drinking buddies ever. **

**And yes, 'cratchety-old-man-cane' is one word.**


	148. AHA! part 38

It took five TARDIS trips and a little persuasion from Bond's gun to clear the apartment, but they managed it.

Only a handful remained.

KCS, PGF, Holmes, Watson sat atop four white horses.

"I really don't see this as necessary…" Holmes muttered.

"I do," PGF said. "I've always wanted to do this."

Somehow the room had expanded to include a rather epic sunset.

"Do you think, "To infinity and beyond," or "Hi-yo silver," would be more appropriate?" PGF asked.

"Just ride," said KCS.

So they did…

…until Holmes tired of it and hopped off his horse.

**The End**


	149. Victorian Expressions: Barker

**This new series of drabbles is called "Victorian Expressions." Each drabble I write will be based off an alphabetical list of 35 Victorian slang words I found online.**

**Not only will you be entertained, people! You will fill your heads with eccentric vocabulary from Holmes' lifetime! There's no downside.**

**First word is Barker, aka: Gun.**

* * *

"Holmes!"

Dr. Watson watched as his friend struggled for possession of a gun. The revolver was currently in the hands of one Miles Chambers; professional burglar.

With a resounding blast the weapon went off and Sherlock Holmes dropped like a stone to the floor.

Watson knelt at his side, ignoring Chambers' escape.

But even as Watson's hands rapidly searched the woolen clothes and starched shirt they found no trace of blood.

"Holmes?"

The detective's hands were pressed against his ears, eyes wide with pain and shock, he shouted deafly into the silence.

"Is that why they call it a barker?"


	150. VE: Brass

**New word: Brass**

* * *

Supine on the settee Sherlock Holmes listened to the clunk of the front door swinging shut, and then several voices raised in an argument like a flock of sparrows.

"Holmes."

Make that sparrows and one lion.

Watson staggered into the room fighting against the numerous grubby little hands that clung to his coat and his legs.

"Why were your little spies waiting at the front door to assault me?"

"Yew gents forgot to cough up the brass for our last job!" insisted Wiggins.

Watson frowned at his friend in confusion.

"Money." Holmes translated and dug into his pocket for shillings.

* * *

**Too many S's! First it was the W's! Now it's the S's! The alliteration is stalking me!**


	151. VE: Brass II

**As it turns out there are two meanings to the word Brass.**

**Money, and a gentleman who doesn't mind his manners around the ladies.  
**

* * *

"Ah Watson, I hope my brother appreciates what I am going through tonight."

Watson tried not to smile at his friend, stuffed unhappily into his formal wear, with a glass of liquor clutched in his hand. His pride was already on the ropes.

"I'm sure he knows how much you loathe being here," Watson consoled him.

"Well at least you and Mrs. Watson are enjoying yourselves," Holmes gestured to Watson's wife, dancing on the floor. "But I don't think her partner's hand should be so low."

Watson looked, and bristled, and in the ensuing chaos Holmes made good his escape.

* * *

**Oh you know he did that deliberately.**


	152. VE: Bung

**For obvious reasons I am laying off the Watson angst for a while.**

**But no one said anything about _Holmes_! Bwahahahahaaa!**

* * *

"Holmes…Holmes are you alright my dear fellow?"

My friend's eyes, already half open, strained weirdly to the left in an effort to focus on me.

"Did you get them?"

I patted his leg, outstretched before me on the settee, "The ruffians who barged in and tried to drag you from your own sitting room? No."

"It was that crazy bung!" snarled one of the aforementioned ruffians, now sitting with his fellows, trussed expertly in the manner of a Christmas goose.

"Bung?" I turned to my friend, still the fount of bizarre knowledge.

"Landlord," he groaned. "Or in this case, land_lady_."

* * *

**She wields a deadly rolling pin!**

**…**

**and that totally sounds like a boxing term!**


	153. VE: Burglar Arc 1: Crow

The irregulars were careful not to burst into Watson's consulting rooms. They had their professional pride after all. A respectable street urchin did not spend all his time with coves and toffs.

That was why, on a morning in September, Watson was surprised to hear a commotion in his waiting room.

"The crow! I need to see the crow!"

He emerged to see his secretary struggling with none other than Wiggins.

"What crow, boy? What are you on about?"

"_You_, Doctor." Wiggins turned his head to look at the young woman, and winked.

"You can let me go now love."

* * *

**The word was "crow", which is a term for "medicine man", "healer", "quack", "Leech", "sawbones" aka "doctor." **

**Toff and cove were just bonuses.  
**

**And I guess its a story arc now. Why is Wiggins looking so urgently for Watson? Why isn't Holmes there adding to the mess? Will the Doctor ever learn proper slang? Will Wiggins get slapped for his cockiness? **

**Stay tuned to find out!**


	154. VE: BA2 Crackacrib

"I trust this is important enough to call me away like this, Wiggins. My practice is not—"

"It _is_ important, Doctor. The Gov told me to get you 'afore he left."

Watson stopped, and the urchin turned to look at him, curious at the lack of shoe-sound on cobblestones.

"Left to _where_?"

"To crack-a-crib," Wiggins saw the incomprehension on his elder's face and sighed impatiently. "He went to a gen'leman's house, to lift somefing he needed, for his case. He told me to get you if anyfing went wrong."

"And something has."

"Right, you want to leg it now?"

* * *

Crack-a-Crib: to burgle


	155. VE: BA3 Nobble

**It seems Wiggins is a main player in this story. How else am I to introduce slang so readily?**

**Your reviews make me verrah verrah happy. :D  
**

* * *

Watson promptly called a passing cab and continued his interrogation.

"_What_ has happened to Holmes?"

"Well he was doin' alright, afore a large gen'leman found him sneakin' around in the library…"

Watson frowned, "How large?"

Wiggin's spread his hands, "Large enough to deal with the Governor. He grabbed him and started to nobble him…"

The Doctor's face had grown increasingly anxious, but at this last description it abruptly hardened, no longer empathic or moldable.

"He beat him?"

Wiggins was also indignant, growling like a terrier. "Right off Doctor, wiv'out a word. I fought you blokes had rules about those things."

* * *

**Wiggins is right you know. You're supposed to introduce yourself before you smack another person around. It's only polite.**


	156. VE: BA4 Dial

Wiggins led him around to the back of the townhouse where a darkling window, high in the wall, showed a clear view of the library.

Watson had to pull himself up and hang on the ledge to peer in.

The library was dark, he could see nothing but the vague shape of chairs and tables…

"WHATCHOO DOIN?"

A yelp of surprise escaped his throat and turned into pain as he slipped and landed on his rear in the wet grass.

Peter, Wiggin's second in command, appeared out of the bushes.

"Cor Doctor, you should see the look on your dial."

* * *

**That's a nervy kid, scaring a lethally armed war veteran.**


	157. VE: BA5 Gargler

"Shame on you, Petey!" Wiggin's shook his finger in the other boy's face. "Poppin' up like a bloody constable. The Doctor's heart's in his gargler!"

"He didn't mean nuffing by it!" piped a higher voice, also from the bushes.

"Alfie! You come out o' there!"

The tousled ginger-head emerged.

"You're meant a be at the norff side o' the building, Alf, the norff. Remember 'ow I told you to tell norff?"

Alfie waved off the lesson. "I come to tell you that we got one o' the windows open."

"'Ow did you do that?"

Alfie proffered a familiar, nickel-plated jemmy.

* * *

**Gargler is cant for throat. You have no idea the amount of whump!plotbunnies I had to fend off when I found that word. **

**And additional bonus, a Jemmy is a kind of crowbar for breaking in through windows and doors. Holmes was especially proud of his up-to-date burlgary-kit.**


	158. VE: BA6 Glim

**Wow, so many reviews. If I didn't know any better I'd say you guys were enjoying this junk.**

* * *

The boy's bickered quietly amongst themselves as they led the Doctor to the open window.

It was small, and three feet from the floor. Squeezing Watson through it proved difficult, but with many hands shoving at his feet he managed it.

He looked about the empty kitchen, so easily accessible in so many houses. An open wound.

"Doctor, look over there!" Wiggins whispered helpfully as he dropped to the floor. Alfie landed a moment later.

"If I tell you to run you must—"

"No, Doc, over there, look at that glim."

A small light flickered life down the hallway.

* * *

**Glim = Candle/small light.**


	159. VE: BA6 Hooks

"What's ee doin'?" Wiggins whispered.

"Maybe 'ee's—GET YOUR HOOKS OFFA ME!"

They turned as one,the boy and Watson, to see Alfie, struggling fiercely against some unseen assailant. On closer study they made out a shadow close to the ground, wrapping a portion of itself around the boy's ankle.

Watson had hisrevolver out in an instant, but Wiggins was faster. He stomped fiercely at the shadow which let out a yelp of pain and pulled back.

The little struggle was nothing to the noises that suddenly grew outside of the little kitchen in the direction of the candle.

* * *

**Hooks = hands**


	160. VE: BA7 Kip

In a mere instant the room was lit, and two men filled the doorway.

They were manservants, footmen, something of the sort. They paid little heed to the intruders, looking right past them to the shadow crumpled on the floor. The one holding the candle sneered and pointed

"Told you." he said, gesturing towards the vulnerable form under Wiggin's shoe. "He kipped out in the kitchen."

Wiggins' face grew pale beneath its freckles. He drew his foot away from the limp form of Sherlock Holmes.

The would-be rescuers stared in horror at the smear of blood on the boy's boot.

* * *

**Oh no! What have they done?**

**Kip: a place to sleep, stay, or in this case; hide.**


	161. VE: BA8 Lam

**Moar! I love you guys.**

* * *

Watson was almost too slow raising his revolver to point at the footmen. The sight of cold steel halted them in their giddy tracks, already halfway into the room.

"Not a step further," Watson warned, and was pleased to see them taken aback.

Alfie stood bristling, as much as an eight year old can. Wiggins had dropped to his knees beside Holmes, and after a moment he raised his head. The look on his young, made the good Doctor ill.

"They lammed him up good, Doctor," He whispered. "Blood's from his head."

He did not know whether to be reassured.

* * *

**Lam – to beat up**


	162. VE: BA9 Lamps

"Who are you then?" asked the older footman not holding a candle.

"You got lamps, don't ya?" snapped Wiggins, still crouched by an unmoving Holmes. "We're here for him."

"Snappy little trout," said his partner, adding a smile to his sneer. "And what makes you suppose we're gonna let you take him?"

"He doesn't," I stepped forward, in front of Holmes and the boy. "And neither do you. Be kind enough to step over there by the pantry, both of you—"

The Candleman shook his head, "more than my life's worth if I let you lock me in there."

* * *

**Lamps: Eyes**

**One of my favorites actually :)**


	163. VE: BA10 Nipper

**Pleased beyond words that you guys are liking this. Have some more.**

* * *

"And if you fire that gun, you'll have the whole house down on your head. You wouldn't want that," the Candleman said "A set of thieves like you-who bring's a nipper with them to a break-in anyhow?"

Wiggin's snorted, and shrugged when all eyes turned on him. "It's a stupid question. We're useful ain't we? We climb in through windows and what not."

"Leastways you'd know that if you were a proper cove, and not a gentleman's bootlicker," said Alfie with a condescending sniff.

The footman looked offended before Wiggin's kicked him in the ankle.

Then he just looked pained.

* * *

**Nipper: person of smallish stature. **

**Call them that at your peril.**

**Oliver Twist _owned_ climbing in through windows. **


	164. VE: BA11 Put His Lights Out!

"Put his light's out!" shouted Alfie, with a snigger, as the dropping of the candle did in fact put the light out.

Wiggins groaned at the younger boy's joke and shoved him towards the rear of the kitchen. "Doctor, the Gov'ner."

Watson, ever a soldier, obeyed the order (never mind that the commanding officer was four feet tall on the outside).

Holmes was deadweight across his shoulders and so lanky it was difficult even to carry him the few steps to the window.

The boys went out first.

Watson stopped, It was too small for two grown men at once.

* * *

**"Put his lights out" is an entire phrase that pretty much means: Kill him.**

**Geesh Alfie, a bit gleeful aren't you?  
**


	165. VE: BA12 Quiff

"Let him drop, doc!" piped a voice from below, and Watson knew they were right. He was going to have to let his friend fall. But how could he with Holmes' head injury?

"I hear dogs, Doctor!" came Alfie's voice.

Watson swore, levered Holmes' legs through the window and lowered him until he felt little hands tugging from the other end.

Holmes fell heavily, but from the sound of it the boy's had caught him. Watson hopped down to join them and drew his revolver.

"What dogs?" he asked.

Alfie coughed guiltily.

"Bit of a quiff. We have to hurry!"

* * *

**Quiff = Trick**


	166. VE: BA13 Racket

Mary Watson was not alarmed by Sherlock Holmes.

She knew that his profession was trouble.

She knew this long before she married John Watson. So she was not surprised when her husband came home at all hours with cuts and bruises, and ruined clothes.

And then she found two urchins dragging a fully-grown man up her front steps.

"I know what you're finking, Mrs. Watson," said Wiggins. "You gotta believe us, this 'ain't a racket."

"He's too heavy, Wig!" groaned Alfie, trying valiantly to keep Holmes from slipping back down to the street. Holmes groaned, semi-conscious

_Now _she was alarmed.

* * *

**A racket is an illicit activity. **

**But OH NO! What have I done now? What happened between the Great Window Escape and Mary's front stoop? Why are Wiggins and Alfie dragging Holmes around like a flour sack? And where is Watson?**

**Let us stay tuned with poor Mrs. Watson and find out..**.


	167. VE: BA14 Raws

**Sorry for the delay, here's two chapters for you.  
**

* * *

They laid Holmes down in front of the hearth. He didn't seem to be in immediate danger, just pale and covered in too much blood from a head wound.

"What happened?" Mary Watson demanded of the boys.

"They was catchin' up to us," Wiggins said, "took a wrong turn. The Doctor doesn't know London as well as Mr. 'Olmes."

"The Doctor gave 'im to us, and this too!" said Wiggin's excitedly, brandishing a familiar revolver.

Mary snatched it away.

"Anyways, he tells us to stay low until we can leg it. And then he goes after 'em wiv his raws!"

* * *

**Raws is another word for your bare fists. And you should NOT allow small children anywhere near firearms. More than likely Alfie picked it from his pocket as they ran. Wiggins was too busy hero-worshiping to stop the theft.**


	168. VE: BA15 Row

When Sherlock Holmes regained consciousness, it was not because of the familiar sensations of warmth and comfort that reached him.

It was the sound of a revolver's chamber being methodically loaded.

The shunk of each bullet as it slid carefully into place.

His eyes sprang open of their own accord. Two pale faces hovered beside him. He looked past them to the room beyond.

Mary Watson closed the chamber of her husband's revolver. The weapon seated comfortably in her hand.

"There was a row." Alfie said helpfully.

"John's been stupid." Mary added.

Holmes swore, threw aside the afghan and stood.

* * *

**Yay! Cavalry!**

**A row is a fight.  
**


	169. VE: BA16 Nickey

**I love the reviews guys, and my thinking is you'd like more fiction than a lame reply. Here you go. **

**Guess what? I found a bigger list of Victorian Slang…**

**Screw you alphabet. You don't own me.**

* * *

And then promptly fell on his face.

"Gov!" Wiggins exclaimed, going after him.

"I don't think your head has stopped bleeding quite yet, Mr. Holmes," said Mary softly.

Holmes groaned from the floor. "_What head?"_

"The one you keep usin' to bury nails in the wall!" Wiggins scolded.

Holmes glared at the imp's audacity (which considering his squint was not very intimidating).

"The Doctor's not here to tell you different," said the irregular.

"Which is why we must go after him," Holmes surged upward…

…then came down.

Alfie gave Mary an apologetic look. "Sorry ma'am. Sometimes he's a bit nickey."

* * *

**Nickey, my new favorite, means "a bit simple in the head."**


	170. VE: BA17 Lay

"You can't just go off half-staggered, Gov." said Alfie. "We've got to know the lay."

Holmes had in fact managed to stagger all the way to his feet, thanks to an accommodating chair beside the hearth.

"The lay?" asked Mary, still clutching John's loaded gun.

"Plan," growled Holmes. "He means a plan, my dear. We need to approach this carefully."

"What? Wiv' two kids, a bloke wiv' a knockered head, and a lady? No offense Missus," said Wiggins.

"None taken," said Mary. "You don't have to come if you're worried, Mr. Wiggins."

The irregular puffed up like an indignant robin.

* * *

**Lay means: plan, coup, sneaky or crafty intentions.**


	171. VE: BA18 Benjy

"No, you've gone some 'air 'angin' down. Tuck it in the cap proper."

"'airs not the problem, face is too pretty." Piped Alfie.

"Easily solved," said Holmes, slapping some coal dust onto her cheeks.

Mrs. Watson coughed, and remembered to use her fist, not a handkerchief.

"Good," said Holmes, and handed her a scarf to make her look more thick-necked.

Wiggins shook his head at her buttons and redid them.

"Weesh lady. Ain't you never done up the doctor's benjy before?"

She looked to Holmes.

"Waistcoat."

"Ah." She turned back to Wiggins. "Only on him, Mr. Wiggins, never on myself."

* * *

**Benjy, or Benjamin, is a waistcoat. **


	172. VE: BA19 Coopered

***Pokes head in. Hangs chapter***

**...RUN!  
**

***vamooses*  
**

* * *

Dr. Watson had awoken with many headaches in his lifetime.

Some were caused by dealing with a sometimes obnoxious consulting detective. Others were a result of reading into the early hours of the morning.

Still others were caused by violent blows to the head.

He could tell this was the latter. The ropes biting into his arms told him so.

"My dear, Doctor. You do look a bit coopered." A simpering face dove in and out of focus above him. He hated it instantly.

But the face was right. The ropes were very solid. The rest of him was jelly.

* * *

**Coopered, means very very tired, wornout, or useless. Maybe that's where we got "pooped" from. **


	173. VE: BA20 Lush

"Hey there, lad. Yer friend alright?"

The cabman leaned over the side of his hack as his fare clambered out. The younger man wore the taller one draped over him like an ulster.

"Er…yes, aye. He's just a bit lush." The lad wrenched the other's arm more firmly onto his shoulder.

The cabman frowned and whistled his nag onwards.

"Is everyone bearing the name Watson such an unnatural liar?"

"What?"

"You sounded as though you were suffering from pneumonia."

"I'm terribly sorry. You should have given me elocution lessons. _Mr. Holmes' school for the criminal voice_."

They staggered off together.

* * *

** Well this clears things up, doesn't it? Questions galore! Where are Wiggins and Alfie? Where have Holmes and Mary come too now? Who has Watson? How on earth will he escape?**

**How will poor Lestrade feel about cleaning up yet another of Mr. Holmes' infernal messes. **

**And will I ever keep my author's notes shorter than the drabble?**

**A lush is an alcoholic, or just the state of being drunk. **


	174. VE: BA21 Prig

"Imagine," said the fat, well-dressed man. The man Watson had never laid eyes on or even heard of until that moment. "The great Sherlock Holmes acting as a common prig. I was under the mistaken impression that he worked with the police, Doctor. Not that he engaged in criminal activities."

Watson refused to answer, partly because he wasn't going to tell this snuffbox anything about Holmes. but mostly because he was trying to breathe through the blood running down his face.

"I should be more surprised that a man of your profession deigned to assist him."

The fat man tutted.

* * *

**Yes, this is a continuation of the burglary, Victorian slang story.**

**Yes, I'm still alive. Thanks for the reviews despite my rude disappearance :)  
**

**A _prig_ in victorian times was a common thief.  
**


	175. VE: BA22 Pall

**Thank you so much for the reviews and lack of tomatoes!**

* * *

"You've really put a dent in my plans, the pair of you." The man said. "I shall have to alter my plans drastically." He was stuffing things into a bag as he spoke, papers. Idly Watson wondered which of the documents Holmes had been after.

"Luckily for me, no one bothers to clear out these rented houses completely."

Two pairs of hands—familiar, painful hands—grabbed a hold of his arms and dragged him up to a vaguely standing position.

One of the thugs smirked. "there's a nice hole in the cellar where even your detective won't pall you out."

* * *

**Pall means to detect.  
**

**:)  
**

**How awesomely appropriate, and directly related...if somewhat grim in this setting.  
**


	176. VE: BA23 On The Fly

**More fic for awesome reviewers!**

* * *

Mr. Pethering arranged the documents to his satisfaction and snapped his bag closed. He was almost ready to depart.

The front bell rang and Pethering frowned. Here was yet another bump in the proceedings. Most inconvenient.

His men were occupied with the doctor in the basement so, grumbling, he got the door himself.

He did not expect to be fallen upon by a very disreputable workman, who fairly reeked of horses.

"Look 'ere gov, wha'hever it is you're doin' you'd best do it on the fly!"

The wretch staggered past him into the house, clutching at furniture as he went.

* * *

**I don't know exactly how Pethering came to resemble an evil Mycroft (fat, organized, self-satisfied)...or why he has a name that reminds me of a fat evil bird...****  
**

**But then it is 1 in the morning.  
**

**:)  
**

**"On the fly" is a phrase meaning to do something very quickly.  
**


	177. VE: BA24 Blue Bottles

"Who the devil are you!" Pethering sputtered.

"Name's Fred. Not important though is it? Not with the peelers on the way."

"Peelers!?"

"The blue bottles! The law. They know you're here and you've got to clear out quick as you can!"

The disheveled intruder snatched up a candlestick, casually stuck it down his trousers, and started rummaging in drawers.

"What on earth are you on about?!" Pethering frothed.

"None of this is yours, right? I've gotta make a profit on this somehow guv.. I've already got kicked around for me trouble. This is not the best job I've ever had!

* * *

**Blue bottles, or peelers are policemen. **

**The first one is especially interesting. A blue bottle is actually a type of fly. So in other words the police swarm on a crime scene like a bunch of flies. Lovely imagery.**


	178. VE: BA25 Puckering

"According to this incommodious delinquent, someone has informed on me!" Pethering was preoccupied questioning his men and trying to keep 'Fred' from stealing all the silver in the house.

"Easy Guv'ner. No reason to start puckering, use words we can all understand." Fred cast anxious glances out the window, making them all nervous.

No one seemed to notice when a fourth person climbed in through the much abused kitchen window at the rear of the house.

The slight figure, with cloth capped pulled firmly on its head, slipped by unnoticed and began to check behind the doors lining the hall.

* * *

**You think they'd learn to lock that thing properly. **

**Puckering is basically talking in a way no one understands. Much like this drabble series.**

**Incommodious means inconvenient. :D**


	179. VE: BA26 Gump

"Go outside and see if he's telling the truth!" squawked Pethering. "As long as you've already carried out your other duty." He added a significant look.

Because he failed to specify which of them, both thugs gladly made for the door. "And then come back here and deal with this gump!"

The door shut.

Pethering turned to his uninvited house-guest, and instead found the unfeeling barrel of a colt revolver.

"Most fortuitous," said Fred, pulling the candlestick from his trousers and dropping it to the floor with a dull thud that reflected the drop in Pethering's chest. "I thank you."

* * *

**A 'gump' is a weak, spineless individual. So no, it doesn't have anything to do with Forest Gump; probably the least spineless person I've ever heard of.**


End file.
